


Bitter Pill

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales), Hinn_Raven, RenaRoo



Series: Bitter Pill [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Future, Bad Future, Gen, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:38:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7017133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the war, Tucker goes missing. Ten years later, he shows back up again. Chorus is on it’s last leg. His friends are either dead, captured or scattered. And Tucker is still Tucker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! The three of us finally decided to sit down and actually write the main story of Bitter Pill, now that we've gotten most of the backstory out of the way! If you're just stumbling into the series now, don't worry! You won't need to have read the other stuff to know what's happening here. 
> 
> The three of us are going to be taking turns on chapters! Hope you all enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is loosely based of the TMNT 2003 ep "Same as it Never Was"

_Before_

“Dude, it’s just a recon mission,” Tucker said, putting his armor on. He could, technically, get his armor on and off really quickly, but before a big mission, he prefered to take his time. There was something calming about the snap-hiss of the armor fastening, even after literal years of putting it on every morning.

“Felix was spotted last week, Tucker,” Wash scowled, crossing his arms. Wash was still tense and upset because of the fight at the Communication Tower. Which, okay, had been rough and hadn’t exactly gone according to plan, but Tucker had saved the day and gotten a badass looking scar to show for it, and so he was counting it as a “win”.

Wash, however, didn’t seem to see it that way.

“Yeah, well, there’s no one else, and those energy readings Church picked up look like some seriously fucked up alien shit,” Tucker grabbed his helmet and put it on. “And shouldn’t you be going? I thought you were going to Bravo?”

That was one of the suckier parts of this whole clusterfuck. Even though the teams were together again, they kept getting separated for missions. Doyle cited morale reasons. Kimball talked a good game about needing all the good leaders they could get.

Church, however, had another answer. “They don’t want all of you guys to die on them at once,” he’d told Tucker when Tucker had been bitching about it the other day.

Tucker had snorted. “Dude, that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, well, you guys do like to charge head first into danger a lot,” Epsilon had said. “Maybe looking after other people will make you more careful. Not everyone’s as lucky as you guys.”

Tucker and Wash hadn’t gone on a single mission together since they’d managed to prove the bad guys were... well, _bad guys_. It was bullshit. He and Wash had barely had time to even see each other this whole time. Which... Tucker honestly wasn’t sure why that bothered him so much. Wash was safe and _not_ captive of the evil empire. He shouldn’t worry any more. It was fine.

“We leave in ten minutes,” Wash said, pulling Tucker out of his thoughts. “Tucker, I just...” He broke off before he finished what he was saying.

Tucker stared at him, curious. “Yeah, dude?”

Wash looked away, avoiding looking at him. Whatever he had been about to say, he’d changed his mind. “Watch your left side,” he said, his voice quiet, and a lot less pitchy than it had been a moment ago. “You’re still overcompensating.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a mom,” he complained, elbowing Wash in the side. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Captain Tucker,” Kimball knocked on the door, even though it was open, which was how Wash had ended up in his room, sitting on his bed. Wash got flustered when Tucker had offered to close to door to give them privacy, which had made the bow-chicka-bow-wow all the sweeter. “The lieutenants are ready.”

“Coming,” Tucker said, grabbing his sword from his bedside and attaching it to the magnetic grip at his side.

“Tucker, remember, this is recon _only_ ,” Kimball said to him as they walked side by side through the base. “If you see Felix, get out of there _right away_. We can’t afford to lose anyone right now.”

The losses at the attack on Armonia hadn’t been as bad as they could have been, but it was still high. Good people had died. And Tucker knew Kimball blamed herself for every last one of them. Finding out the war had been a gigantic lie had been pretty hard on her.

“Not a problem,” Tucker said, deciding to sidestep the issue. It was pretty clear Kimball wasn’t in the mood for talking about her feelings. That’s why they had Doctor Grey around. “We’re pretty good at running away. But usually the Reds are there too, but hey. I’ll figure something out.”

Kimball sighed. But Tucker was pretty sure it was a fond sigh, so he rolled with it.

“Kimball,” Carolina called. Caboose was behind her, and as she drew up to them, Church made himself known.

“Agent Carolina,” Kimball said with a nod. “Epsilon. Captain Caboose.”

“We’ve punched the numbers,” Church said, waving his hands. “Which, was super complicated and impressive, thank you very much. And yeah, something is _definitely_ up at Bravo. There’s some troop movement. I guess there might have been supplies there that they still want, if they’re risking moving so openly.”

“What kind of equipment would we be talking about?” Kimball asked, taking the datapad from Carolina and starting to scroll through it.  

“Looking at the manifest, there’s a lot of stuff,” Church said with a shrug. “Armor, more alien tech...”

“Like Freckles!” Caboose said.

“Caboose, Freckles was a military-grade assault robot, not alien tech!” Church said, sounding like he’s had this argument at least three times today.

“Or it could be a trap,” Carolina pointed out, ignoring Church and Caboose. “We might need to send more troops with Wash, just in case.”

Kimball sighed. “Tucker, keep going to the docking bay. I need to consult Doyle on this. The squad is waiting for you.”

“Sure thing,” Tucker said easily.  

“Bye Tucker!” Caboose said, waving at him.  

“See ya, Caboose,” Tucker replied, not waving back.

The Reds were in the docking bay. Grif and Simmons were having another argument about whatever show of theirs they loved so much. Grif had made Tucker watch an episode once, back during one of their quiet periods at Blood Gulch. Tucker hadn’t really got what was happening, but the chick in the red dress had been hot, even if her spine did glow. Freaky.

“Tucker!” Donut ran up to him, beaming widely. “Just the man I was hoping for!”

“Hell yeah I am! Bow chicka bow wow!”

Donut nodded approvingly. “Anyways, I was wondering if you’ve seen Doc? I’ve been meaning to talk to him, but everything’s just been so _busy_! Keeping the armory in top shape is a lot of work, you know!”

Tucker frowned. “Don’t think I’ve seen him dude, sorry.”

Donut’s shoulders slumped slightly. “ _No one has_ ,” he complained. “Our anniversary’s next week, and I wanted to be sure he was fine with the plans I’ve made!”

“Don’t worry,” Tucker said, clapping Donut on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later.”

“I hope so,” Donut sighed.

“Idiota, date prisa. Doc se pierde en el vacío del espacio y del tiempo gracias a su incompetencia y ya se hace tarde.”

“You’re _right_ , Lopez! I think Sarge is scaring the kids!”

“Los niños, como se les llama, son de mayor rango que eres.”

“Better get going, Tucker!” Donut went right towards Grif and Simmons, doubtlessly planning to interrupt their flirting. Or fighting. Tucker honestly wasn’t sure which one was which anymore. If there had ever been a difference in the first place.

“Alright,” Tucker said, turning to the four lieutenants, who all looked slightly relieved to be rescued from Sarge’s lecture about proper vehicle maintenance. “Let’s get going.”

The flight was short, and they all exited quickly, heading in. None of them wanted to be here any longer than they had to be.  

The location was some sort of concrete bunker thing. Church had told them it had probably been some sort of classified UNSC laboratory studying the alien technology before they’d pulled out like the assholes they were.

“Alright,” Tucker said, pulling out his sword and turning it on with the familiar flick of his wrist. The blade hummed to life and he grinned to himself. Even after all this time, it was still really fucking cool. “Let’s see if we can figure out whatever it is.”

“Do you think it’s dangerous?” Palomo whispered, looking around him like a twitchy squirrel.

“Shut up Palomo,” Tucker ordered. At this point, the words were pretty much automatic. “It’s probably nothing. Just some weird fancy alien shit that really just makes fireworks or something. I saw it all the time when I was in the diplomatic corps. People would get all worked up about the latest alien shit but then it turns out to be the lawn mower and no one has the keys.”

“Do lawn mowers even have keys?” Palomo asked, sounding curious.

“Have you ever even seen a lawn in your life?” Bitters said.

“No,” Palomo muttered, now sullen. The sad part was, Tucker was pretty sure none of these kids had even seen a lawn.

“Focus,” Andersmith said. “Captain, where should we check first?”

“Uh, right,” Tucker said. God, being in charge was so fucking weird. “Well, let’s go left first, and then we’ll make our way through it. Jensen, you’ve got that radiation detector thing, right?”

“Yes sir!” Jensen said, waving the device that Simmons and Grey had managed to whip up. Tucker was pretty sure it had once been some sort of video game console.

“Great, let’s find this thing and go home.”

The bunker was really fucking creepy. The ceilings were really short in places, forcing Andersmith to duck whenever they went through a doorway. The lights weren’t working, so Tucker’s sword was their only source. And the sword, while awesome and badass, wasn’t exactly meant to be a glowstick. So it was pretty fucking dark, and when there wasn’t darkness, the shadows were moving all the time, making it all feel like the start to some shitty horror movie.

“We’re getting closer, sir,” Jensen whispered, staring at the screen. Tucker couldn’t make sense of any of the dials or waves, but he figured Grey had briefed Jensen on how to use it, so he wasn’t too worried about it.  

“Why the fuck are you whispering, Jensen?” Tucker asked. “No one’s here but us.”

“But Felix might be here!” Palomo said, also in a whisper.

“Yeah, a _week ago_. He’s long gone now,” Tucker said.

They got to the end of a corridor, with three doors branching off it.

“It should be around here,” Jensen said, no longer whispering.  

“Alright,” Tucker said. “Jensen, Palomo, you two take the left door. Bitters, Andersmith, you take the right. I’ll go straight ahead. Don’t go too far down, just check to see where it leads and then come right back.”

“Yes, sir!” They all chorused, saluting. Except Bitters, who shrugged and muttered, “Sure.”

Tucker waited until they were all inside their respective rooms, because his was the only one that was locked. He had to cut the lock off his door with his sword, and then he pushed it open.

He took three steps in, and then stopped dead in his tracks.

The room, in contrast to the rest of the bunker, was filled with light. The walls were white, and the ceiling lights were on full-blast, almost making everything painful to look at. And in the center of the room was some sort of alien pillar made out of eerie looking blue stone, pulsing with a bright light.

The room didn’t look like a laboratory; there was no safety equipment, no tables, no glass walls separating the object from the rest of the room. It was just... _there_. Looking terrifying and ominous and dangerous as hell.

“Holy shit,” Tucker breathed, lowering his sword.  

“And Locus said you guys wouldn’t find anything!” Tucker spun around, recognizing the voice instantly.  

Felix was there, his gun pointed right at Tucker. He looked just like he had a few weeks ago at the Tower, but this time Tucker didn’t have a plan, or Freelancers as backup. Instead, he just had the lieutenants, and if Felix had followed them...  “Locked your kids in their rooms,” Felix taunted. “Didn’t think they’d want to see this.” At least they weren’t dead, Tucker thought, trying to think of a way out of this one.

“You fuck.” Tucker took a step backwards as he tried to strategize.

That was a mistake.

The pillar let out a high pitched scream that sounded like Donut when he saw a spider, and then the pillar glowed a bright and brilliant white for a single moment. It was as if all the other light in the room was being drawn towards the pillar, the lights going out as the pillar grew brighter and brighter, before it too, suddenly, went out and the room was plunged into total darkness.

For a moment, Tucker felt weightless, and then he felt nothing at all.

Everything went black.

* * *

_Now_

It probably said something about Lavernius Tucker’s life that when he woke up to the smell of smoke and the feeling of something sharp and uncomfortable digging into his back his first reaction was this.

“What was it _this time_?”

He was in his armor at least. And he was armed; gun, pistol, sword at his hip. His HUD said he wasn’t injured. Good. He rolled onto his side and tried to stand up, but it was harder than he’d thought it would be, given that he appeared to be in some sort of dump and the ground beneath his feet was actually made up of pieces of junk, which did not make for a steady foothold.

He looked around him, expecting to see the others. There was no way he’d woken up before Wash.

But he couldn’t see anyone.

He was definitely in a dump; some sort of military dump too, he figured. Most of the things were old crates that were completely empty but broken, but there were parts of banged-up armor and ship scraps. Tucker noticed that anything useful or salvageable seemed to be gone, which made sense. Chorus couldn't really afford to be wasteful. Pretty much everything was used until it was literally falling apart.

Which really begged the question of why _he_ was there.

“Guys!” Tucker yelled. “Where the fuck are you?”

He stumbled down the hill of garbage that he’d been lying on, listening and looking for a hint of red or blue armor.

His memories were jumbled and confusing--he couldn’t remember where he’d been before waking up in the middle of nowhere. Which was pretty worrying, given that there was still no sign of the others--not even Kimball or Palomo. Everything seemed to be deserted.

He finally gave up, and reached for his radio. “Guys?” He called, first broadcasting to the Blue’s channel, then the one they shared with the Reds.

There was nothing but static.

Tucker tried not to panic. It was probably nothing. He probably was just out of range or something. Or the Pirates were blocking the signal. Yeah. That was totally it. Nothing was wrong. Just the pirates being dicks. As usual.

He kicked the nearest piece of junk out of frustration, sending it flying.

“Ow!”

The voice was small. Tucker rushed forward, reaching for his sword, in case it was an enemy.

The piece of trash he had kicked had been a gauntlet of sorts--some sort of fancy armor that Tucker didn’t recognize. But he did recognize the thing it had collided with.

A storage unit for AI. But it looked different than the one that Wash and the Meta had trapped Church in, ages ago. It looked sleeker. Newer. Modified. And it was glowing with a pale red light.

“What the fuck?” Tucker muttered to himself, not touching the unit. But it was enough to alert whatever it was to his presence. The light flashed brighter, and the voice came back.

“Who’s there? Are you a friend?”

“I’m Tucker,” he said, squinting at the small projection that emerged from the unit. It was wearing armor, like all the other AI Tucker had seen before. But it looked... smaller, somehow. And it sounded young. Like a kid.

“I’m Hope!” The AI said. “Nice to meet you, Tucker!”

“What the fuck are you doing in a junkyard?” Tucker asked, looking around. There was nothing around him that gave any sort of hint.  

“The Chairman said I was useless,” Hope muttered, looking down at his feet. “I couldn’t help.”

Tucker stared, trying to make sense of what the young AI had said. “The Chairman? As in _Hargrove_?”

Hope nodded. “He’s not very nice,” he whispered, as if confiding some huge secret to Tucker instead of just stating one of the fundamental facts of the universe.

“No,” Tucker said. “He’s not. He’s kind of an asshole.” He finally picked up the unit, straightening up as he cradled it in his hands. Even the unit was smaller than Epsilon’s had been. Tucker wondered if that was because it was a newer model, or because of how small Hope was. “Want to help stop him?” An AI was an AI, Tucker figured. They could use all the help they could get. And Tucker could also really use backup, given that he had no clue where his friends were, or where _he_ was. He couldn’t think of any junkyards nearby.  

He still couldn’t remember where he’d been before this. Or what he’d been doing. He hoped he remembered soon.

Even if Hope wasn't a combat assist AI, or whatever Hargrove had been hoping for, Hope would probably still be useful.

Hope seemed to hesitate for a moment. His light got dim, and he seemed to shrink slightly. “Can I help?”

Jeeze, he really sounded like a kid. Tucker missed Junior for a moment, which was stupid, because Junior didn’t speak English. And he also was a hell of a lot safer at boarding school than he would be if he was with Tucker on Chorus.

“Well, you probably can’t hurt, since we’re generally pretty fucked,” Tucker said with a shrug as he forced himself to focus again.

Hope paused again. “Yes,” he finally said. “I want to help.”

“Awesome!” Tucker said, grinning. “Think you can help me figure a way out of this dump?”

“Yeah!” Hope said, flashing brighter for a moment. He was bigger again, too. Tucker wondered if this was a normal thing. Church only had ever changed sizes when he was in the Reds’ freaky holographic projection chamber. The rest of the time he just stayed tiny.

“Alright, which way?” Hope pointed, and Tucker started walking.

The junk yard was a maze. As he went further in, Tucker spotted things that were less military in manner. There were some cars that didn’t look like they had ever had a gun attached to them. There were broken window frames. There were what appeared to be _flower pots_.

Tucker stepped on something surprisingly soft. He looked down, expecting to be really grossed out.

Instead, he realized with a start that he was standing on a _doll_. A cloth, rag doll with yarn for hair and a little blue dress.

He looked around again, and his stomach plummeted as he came to a realization.

This part of the dump was a _town_. Ripped up, completely bulldozed over, and thrown here to rot. Entire houses, cars, street signs too.

It didn’t make sense. The New Republic and the Feds wouldn't do something like that. There wasn’t any _point_! Some of the cars probably still had parts that could be used, and the houses might have had supplies in them.

Tucker had known that this had to be a Merc dumpsite, but when had they had the time to bulldoze entire settlements? Shouldn’t they be focused on the _war_?

Tucker needed to tell Kimball about this.

“Left turn here,” Hope said to him.

“Right,” Tucker said, dropping the doll. He hoped the kid it had belonged to was okay.

Looking around, he couldn’t help but doubt it.

The dump was surrounded by a chain-link fence, but Tucker cut through it with his sword easily, and grinned. “Great job!” He said to Hope. “We’re out of there!”

“Now where do we go?”

“Well, first I need to figure out where we are,” Tucker said.

“Oh!” Hope said, flickering brighter again. His avatar bounced slightly, as if jumping up and down with excitement. “I know! I know!”

“Yeah?” Tucker said, grinning. “Where are we?” He hoped it wasn’t too far. He wanted to find the others, and fast.

“We’re nearly at Armonia! That’s the capital!” Hope said proudly.

Tucker froze. “Where’s Armonia, kid?” He asked, quietly. His heart was racing. Something was very wrong.

“Right in front of you!” Hope said, pointing.

Tucker turned his attention back to the horizon.

Armonia had never been a nice city in Tucker’s experience. Colony cities rarely were, and Chorus had been at war for fucking _ever_ , so making things look nice was far from the priority list. Armonia was held together by duct tape and prayers, but it was sturdy at heart. It had survived years of war. It was _safe_.

He wanted to puke, seeing it like this.

He had smelled smoke earlier. Now he knew where it was coming from.

There was a huge cloud of ash hanging over the city. Smoke filled the air, and the fire was burning so bright and large that Tucker’s HUD automatically dimmed itself to compensate.

He looked around, trying to make sense of everything. His heart seemed to only speed up as he took it all in. He hadn’t looked around before. He’d only focused on what was right in front of him.

Gigantic ships filled the air, all of them military vessels with a gigantic familiar symbol stamped on them.

They all bore the logo Charon Industries, emblazoned clearly for everyone to see.

Tucker stumbled backwards, his back colliding with the fence. “No,” he whispered. Because he remembered now.

The spooky laboratory not far from Armonia.

The alien pillar.

The lieutenants.

Felix.

And the others. All of them had been in Armonia. They were _still there_.

The flames seemed to rise up high enough to lick at the sky, flickering ominously as they burned everything they touched. Entire buildings were collapsing. This was no ordinary fire. Tucker wondered how they set it.

The grass beneath him was dead and withered and brown. Everywhere he looked, everything was dead. The trees, the grass, the bushes. Even the sky looked different, although the fire might have something to do with that.

Tucker dropped his sword.

He had been wrong.

Hope couldn’t help them.

Because the war was already over.


	2. Chapter 2

There was something to be said for Hope’s sense of direction, even if Tucker was too drained and shell shocked still to fully appreciate he hadn’t been led off a cliff yet. 

Chorus, at least Chorus as he knew it, was long gone. And in its place was a difficult to accept wasteland. 

“Still ahead,” Hope claimed in an expedient tone. It had taken a few miles of walking, but Tucker had come to learn it was really AI for  _ hurry the hell up already.  _ A sentiment he could appreciate. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, throat dry and soles of his feet uncomfortably stretching with each additional step. “Look, all I’m saying is that the longer we take, the more that blaze is probably going to be down. You know. Handled by people who can handle it. Which is the opposite of me right now -- I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.”

The AI’s projection tilted its head at him before ultimately disappearing in a flicker. Something Tucker had more than enough experience with Church to know meant that the computer was done talking but not done bossing him around. Just taking a break while Tucker took his time completing the given objective.

The road forked around another crushed piece of space debris that Tucker could safely assume was an engine block from a Pelican-sized vehicle. 

He began stepping around, like the mountains of other debris before it, but ultimately he came to a stop instead and ignored the annoyed sigh in his helmet as he looked the debris up and down. Then further ignored the nervous tickling in the back of his skull as he dared to reach out and run his gauntleted hands over the wreckage, watching the rust tick off at his touch.

“Tucker?” Hope asked as it flickered back to life in front of him. “Armonia is still a ways to go.”

“This has been here for a while,” Tucker informed Hope as he finally took his hands away and looked at the pieces of the debris that clung to his fingers. “A  _ long  _ while.”

“Uh huh,” Hope trailed off, apparently not nearly as fascinated by the correlation as Tucker was at that point. The AI tilted its head. “I think when we leave, if you wanted to come back, the debris will still be here then, too! In fact, I don’t think it’s going anywhere!”

“What’s with your chipper tone, dude?” Tucker demanded, more biting than he intended. He waved his arms around them, to the scorched earth and broken weapons and vehicles scattered around. “This is  _ majorly  _ fucked up! Shit’s all over the place, this planet’s scorched, and there’s a city burning right in front of us!”

Hope hummed, a vibration tingling through the AI’s chip. “I guess I just want to think that it’ll get better soon,” Hope declared rather brazenly. 

Somewhat put off by the answer, Tucker started walking again, hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. “What could give you  _ that  _ kind of boost in optimism?” he asked before stopping and blinking. “Oh. Yeah.  _ Right.  _ Your name’s freaking  _ Hope _ , duh. Man. I’d say you’re the most encouraging and optimistic AI I’ve seen… but, dude, that  _ really  _ does a disservice to how grouchy and pessimistic all the AI I know are. You know. Besides Sheila.”

As expected, Hope merely tilted its head at that news. “I don’t know what any of that means!” it said in the same grindingly chipper tone.

“Yeah,” Tucker grunted. “I’ll just make sure you find out for yourself once we find the others.” 

The  _ if  _ that should have been there lingered heavily over Tucker’s chest. 

Hope might have been too optimistic or too deluded to really understand the evidence around them, but for Tucker it was building up. He had pretty easily realized that however long he was out, it had been enough time for them to have completely lost the war for Chorus to Charon. But since they had started walking toward a destroyed Armonia, things were beginning to become more heart shatteringly apparent that it was so much  _ more  _ than he first thought.

These battles were still smoldering, but the complete loss of plant life, the loose feel of the ash beneath his boots, the scratchy rust of the long since cold vehicles around them -- if Tucker wasn’t sure they were on Chorus he would have thought these were battle marks from the Great War. That these were scars from ages ago. 

It didn’t make sense. 

“Still ahead!” Hope attempted to encourage once again.

Grinding back on his teeth, Tucker felt his last bit of patience begin to snap like linguine under pressure. Which also served to make him feel his hunger pangs rear up again. 

“God _ damn,  _ Hope, I can  _ see _ that I’m facing Armonia!” he cried out with a frantic flail of his arms. “Why do you keep reminding me? Am I  _ really  _ moving so slow for you? Does  _ hope  _ also mean  _ impatience  _ where you’re from back in AI Land?”

Hope stared for a moment before giving a timid nod. “Sorry, Tucker! It’s just that I think that the bad people can finally be stopped now that  _ you’re  _ here! You’re exactly what everyone needed! You make all the difference!”

Tucker stared for a moment before looking around for cameras. “What the fuck is this?  _ It’s a Wonderful Life?  _ I’m so confused. I’m not that important, dude.” 

“Also I would like for us to be safe from the searching parties roving the wastes for the Resistance!” Hope informed him at long last. 

Blinking in surprise, Tucker rolled the words over in his mind before repeating, “Search parties?”

With the usual Sim Trooper luck in full form, a blast from the distance forced Tucker’s instincts into hyper drive. 

In a swift, singular motion, Tucker dove behind the very debris he had been inspecting before, pulled the hilt of his sword from its sheath, and turned on the plasma yielding blades. Putting some debris and the business end of his signature weapon between himself and whatever the explosion had entailed just before a closer explosion shook them again.

“Uh oh,” Hope hummed with jittery energy.

“Uh oh? This is a little more than an  _ uh oh  _ situation, dude!” Tucker chastised, hunkering down and considering for a moment if he should switch out for a long range weapon. “Dammit. I don’t even know who these guys are or how many or what they’re armed  _ with  _ or-or--”

After a moment of processing, Hope looked up over the debris with its projection then looked back down, hands on its hips. “They seem to be Charon marked pirates! There’s four of them. They’re armed with standard issue sidearms, two with battle rifles, one with a sniper rifle that’s increasingly out of range as they near, and the last with a laser rifle.”

Tucker let out a puff of air and leaned his back further against the debris as another explosion shook the already loosened earth. “Gee, thanks. Now how about an escape plan?”

Hope hummed for a moment before stiffening up with delight. 

Almost hopeful himself, Tucker looked eagerly to the AI. “What? What’s the plan?”

“Wait!” Hope offered.

For a moment, Tucker almost let it by without comment. They were too close to the belly of the beast to really waste time arguing but, well, he would always have his initial soldier’s instincts be from  _ Blood Gulch  _ at the end of the day.  

He shook his head violently and then growled at Hope, “Wait for  _ what!?”  _

“A good friend!” Hope informed him. “I have a good feeling about the fifth heat signature on my field.”

Eyes widened, Tucker felt his heart nearly stop. “Fifth? There’s a fifth!? Hope! They’ve got us surrounded now--”

As he looked down the road, Tucker saw the approaching figure as a dark blur rushing straight at him. And while his instincts as a soldier were well honed by that point and he already had his sword prepared for battle, the ferocity and speed at which their fifth mysterious friend was coming at them with sent Tucker into a shrill yell. 

Still, he knew he had to  _ act,  _ as there was no telling what sort of weapon the guy had on him to  _ react _ to. So with his right foot kicked back against the ship debris, his fingers curled readily over the hilt of his sword, Tucker gritted his teeth and kicked off from the debris, shifting the entire vessel and using the additional momentum to dive forward with a slash of his weapon. 

It wasn’t the most savvy of attacks that Tucker had in his arsenal, but it was still shocking when the undeterred blur of a soldier simply jumped over the swing, firmly used a broad hand to push off from Tucker’s helmet, and continued the leap to the top of the shipping debris.

Confused and turned around by the use of his own momentum, Tucker let out an unsettled yelp before spinning on his heel and landing flat on his ass. 

He looked up, awestruck at the flash of black and pink armor stood on top of the debris. 

Hope projected over his shoulder again, looking brightly toward the figure. “Oh! Yay! I knew we should have felt good about this guy! See! Nothing wrong with a little hope!”

The helmet of the other shoulder tilted back enough for Tucker to see the glint of his visor before it turned completely back to the approaching pirates. For their part, they seemed dumbstruck by the image, too, looking at the figure just before he pulled out several knives. 

“Oh, fuck! Shoot him!” one of them yelled just before there was a rain of fire on the other side of Tucker’s cover. 

“Come on,” a graveled but familiar voice said from the man just as he jumped out of the way of the bullets. “Shooting off when I just got started is more than a little  _ premature.”  _ He tucked into a roll before coming out from the cover and whipping out four of the knives in a single arc of his hand and sending them right for the Charon soldiers. “It’s rude for us not to try and finish at once.”

Almost immediately, Tucker screwed his face together and leaned back. He was far more horrified by the commentary than by the eerie way the knife placement hit all four soldiers in the more exposed areas of their suits just beneath their throats. 

“What the fuck?  _ Donut!?”  _ Tucker cried out. 

The Supposed-Donut stood straight for a moment, almost seeming self-satisfied with the results of the altercation. His body went tense, however, when all four pirates’ armors let out a simultaneous bleep, and a bright red light shone over their chest plates. 

“Damn it!” he hissed, quickly turning around and racing toward Tucker. Before Tucker could even react, Donut was grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. “Come on, soldier! Get the cement out of your boots! They’re about to blow us!” 

“What!?” Tucker cried out, stumbling to do just as Donut said as he was half dragged along. 

“Up,” Donut finished. “Now come on!”

For a brief moment in their sprint, Tucker realized the bleeping from the pirates was becoming quicker, counting down. He looked to his shoulder for Hope to ask for a read out,  _ anything  _ to help figure out a blast radius or  _ something _ , but the tiny AI was no longer projecting. 

It was ultimately not needed, as Donut pulled Tucker with him into a sturdier pile of debris a good distance away just as everything began to blow up. Tucker tucked into his knees and covered his head, shouting somewhat instinctively as the heat and smoke licked at their backs from around the debris. 

He glanced only once to see what Donut was doing and was surprised to see the other soldier on his knees, grabbing onto their cover and peering toward the top, as if trying to get a better vantage point rather than covering up as best he could to save his life. 

As loathe as Tucker might have been to admit it out loud, it was one of the more badass things he had seen outside of himself in a while.

Once the blast began to die down and the debris stopped pinging so loudly around them, Tucker took a breath and uncoiled himself enough to fully get a look at the man who had saved his life. 

Donut was already looking back at him, head half-cocked. 

There was something different about him -- more than the armor that was already fairly different from anything Tucker would have expected. A mish mash of amor types, only the basest of which were of Donut’s familiar UNSC branded armor. Most looked familiarly like Charon Industries which made an unsettling lurch to Tucker’s stomach. None of it was good condition, just varying degrees of battered and scratched -- which was one of the most un-Donut things that Tucker could think of. 

Since  _ when  _ would Donut have ever allowed himself to be caught dead in unmatching armor and accessories? And since when was his armor not the top condition? It made no sense with the man he knew.

“Um…” Tucker managed in a not completely dignified manner. He couldn’t think of any time in their history where the real Donut had seemed quite so intimidating either. “So thanks, I guess…” 

“You’re welcome I guess,” he replied bitingly. The warm humor that used to seep into every vowel that came out of Donut’s mouth was dried up, graveled. 

“Right, okay,” Tucker continued, finally pushing himself onto his feet and shaking his head. “Well, I guess the only question I have is whether or not you’re  _ really  _ Donut, because right now I’m thinking--” he glanced up from dusting off his armor just to see the barrel of Donut’s rifle before his eyes. He blinked in surprise as his body froze. “--you’re… not…”

“I’m not the one who needs to prove anything, Mister,” Donut corrected. 

“What are you talking about?” Tucker asked, slowly standing straight again, watching the trained gun on him. “It’s me!  _ Tucker!  _ You have to know it’s me!”

“Well, in your own words,” Donut said before nodding his gun. “ _ Prove it.” _

At a complete loss, Tucker tried to put together all the things that hadn’t made sense since his fight with Felix -- the destruction of Chorus, the aged and rusted debris, the pirates, Donut flipping around like he was straight out of  _ The Matrix  _ \-- and his brain was beginning to fizzle with the possibilities. 

It was all just too unreal.

“Okay, we can’t play this little song and dance because there’s  _ no way  _ you think I have to prove who I am when I’m the one who hasn’t changed a goddamn bit,” Tucker retorted before waving a hand toward himself. “Armor’s the same. Badass alien sword’s the same.  _ I’m  _ the same.  _ You’re  _ the one who doesn’t make any sense!”

For a moment, Donut seemed to think through the accusation before shaking his head. “No,  _ you  _ don’t make any sense. I’m not the one out of place here.  _ You  _ are. So unless you can prove you’re Tucker -- that you’re my  _ friend  _ \-- I’m going to start taking the charade a little personally.” Donut lowered his head. “You won’t like it when I make this  _ personal.” _

Unable to contain himself, Tucker snorted and glanced off. “That was so lame. Did it sound better in your head?”

“A little bit,” Donut laughed back. And it  _ was  _ a laugh, though it took Tucker a moment to really recognize it as one. The tone was low and shaky, like it hadn’t emerged from Donut in ages. Like he was remembering how to do it for the first time in years.

When what little laughter there was between them died down, Tucker found himself left anxious in the silence. He chewed on the inside of his cheek some before reaching up to his helmet, earning the startled redirection of Donut’s gun.

“What are you doing?” Donut snapped through the  _ hsstchh  _ of the release catches on Tucker’s helmet coming loose.

“Proving a point,” Tucker replied as he rolled his helmet off from the back of his head, releasing his itchy, sweaty scalp to the smoldering air of Chorus. The rush of smoke and staleness around him still managed to surprise him, like he was in the desert with Donut again rather than on the once prosperous grounds of the planet they were fighting to save.

Immediately, Donut’s shoulders dropped, as did his gun. There was an audible gasp as he stepped forward. “Oh, my  _ stars!”  _ Donut let out, so much more like his “old” self of just hours before. “Tucker… Tucker, it’s  _ you!  _ The-- oh my gosh. You’re so  _ young  _ and fit and have well bitten lips. I barely know what to do with this information!”

“That makes two of us,” Tucker replied with a curious tilt of his head. “What was that about my lips--”

Tucker choked at the end of his words as he was suddenly engulfed in a Donut hug that took him off the ground and squeezed the ever loving shit out of him. He coughed as Donut rag dolled him from side to side with gleeful squeals released through his helmet. 

“Tucker! Oh my gosh! No one will ever believe that I found you --  _ I  _ don’t believe that I found you! Tucker!  _ Tucker!”  _ the Red squealed over and over again while Tucker wheezed for air and mildly struggled against him. 

“Donut! Cut it out! I can’t breathe!” he mustered as Donut finally stopped twisting around with him. He let out a whisk of air through his nose and just slumped against his friendly captor. “What the hell is  _ up _ , man? One minute I was fighting Felix and then the next I’m here and--”

At the barest mention of Felix, Donut dropped Tucker to the ground, which made the second time the Red had been responsible for Tucker near- _ literally  _ busting his ass on the ground since they met up less than half an hour beforehand.

“Felix,” Donut spat out, voice cold and hateful. “How close is he?”

“I… I don’t know,” Tucker replied nervously, reaching up to his head. “I just woke up. I was fighting him -- I guess I got separated from my squad when… I don’t know if I was winning or losing,” though his guts told him it was the latter rather strongly, “but it was me and Felix. And then it wasn’t. It was just me.” He rubbed at his head harshly. “I don’t know about anyone else. I don’t even know about Wash or the squad with him.”

“With…  _ Wash?  _ Wash had a  _ squad?”  _ Donut repeated, every addition proving to sound even more mystified than the last.

“Is that a problem?” Tucker asked just before going rigid. His heart pounded. He hadn’t seen the end of the battle, he didn’t know what had become of Wash or Caboose or  _ anyone _ . But judging by the aback look Donut was giving him in return, Tucker began to grow the sinking suspicion that his old friend  _ did  _ know what had happened. “Oh, god! What happened? Did they get out of there okay? I was just-- You know what? It doesn’t matter. Wash made it out of there, right?”

Donut stood quietly for a moment before looking back at Tucker. “That battle you’re describing? That stuff about Wash leading a squad somewhere else? The fight with Felix? Leading the Chorus armies in a pursuit? That’s all something I remember. It’s just been… It’s been a  _ very  _ long time since that was the last battle I fought. But it  _ does  _ make sense of why you look  _ so  _ young.”

“Young?” Tucker gave his turn to repeat a go.

Reluctantly, Donut reached up to his own helmet, the hiss of compressed air, maybe bottled up even longer than Tucker’s own, sounding through the tense air between them. 

Finally, Donut revealed beneath his helmet an aged face, hair whitening around his ears and toward the tips of a messy coif. The damaged side of his face still bore witness to their adventures in Blood Gulch, but there were wrinkles from a set frown and worry lines across his brow. 

But most of all, Donut’s eye was hidden away behind a patch that Tucker had never seen before. 

“Donut?” Tucker questioned again, taking a step back from his old friend. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand  _ anything  _ right now. What’s going on? Why are you so  _ old _ ? What  _ happened  _ to your eye?”

“You’ve missed a lot in the past ten years, Tucker,” he explained darkly. “None of it good. But if you’re here now… If you’re here now, we’ve got to get you to the Resistance. You might just be the change we need to end this thing once and for all.”

“Whoa whoa  _ whoa!”  _ Tucker called out, horrified. “Ten years?  _ Resistance?” _

“The Resistance is good, Tucker!” Hope chirped, finally projecting over his shoulder again. “I believe in them!”

“Oh, so  _ now  _ you’re coming in to be supportive,” Tucker grunted with a roll of his eyes just before there was a click of a gun. He turned and widened his eyes as he saw Donut’s gun barrel again. “What!? We  _ just  _ went through this, man!”

“Where the hell did you get that!?” Donut snapped, a strange gleam to his eye. “Did Hargrove have you all this time? Tucker, is it implanted? If you can’t say it, just blink twice!”

For a moment, Tucker tried to process everything thrown at him just before realizing he might have accidentally blinked twice in the process which forced him to blink rapidly in a vain attempt to keep Donut from getting the wrong signal. Instead, he threw up his hands to block out Donut’s view of Hope.

“No one’s got anything implanted Donut!” Tucker called out. “Hope’s just who I ran into out here when I woke up. I’m carrying their chip with me and they’ve been pretty cool about guiding me toward Armonia.”

“Armonia?” Donut asked, perplexed again. “ _ Why? _ ” He looked angrily toward the AI. “This some sort of Charon trap? You have people waiting for Tucker?”

Hope merely tilted its head. “No. Tucker wanted to go! And I was showing him where the location of New Armonia is according to my downloaded coordinates.”

“The city’s a complete loss,” Donut informed them, lowering his gun slightly and focusing on Tucker. “Going to it, even for supplies, is suicide for most people. I was surprised to see someone on this road headed that way. More surprised than I can even begin to explain that it was someone I knew. You could have given me a  _ heart attack  _ with how surprised I was that it was  _ you.”  _ He hummed with thought. “Though I guess you  _ could  _ have had to give me mouth to mouth. That would’ve made this way more believable from the get-go.”

“I don’t think that’d be my immediate reaction to a heart attack,” Tucker offered. “But if no one’s in the city…  _ where  _ are they?”

Donut wavered quietly, his wary eye still firmly set on Hope. “I’m going to take you to them… I just don’t know how happy anyone’s going to be if we come waltzing through the doors with, well, one of  _ those.  _ On principle alone we’re asking to set the Boss Lady off.” He shook his head, looking increasingly discouraged. “Damn. There’s just… I’m excited to see you, Tucker. I need  _ everyone  _ to get to see you but I just can’t take you straight home. Not until we get it cleared that your story checks out. And that  _ this  _ checks out.” He glowered at Hope. “ _ Especially  _ this.”

Hope shrunk back and immediately Tucker felt his protective instincts kick in. He stepped between them. 

“Alright,  _ enough,”  _ Tucker said. “Let’s just try to figure this thing out. We’ll do whatever we have to.”

For a moment, Donut seemed unmoved. 

Finally, he lowered down and picked up his helmet, using just one hand to put it back on over his head and locking the latches. Tucker took the hint and clumsily followed suit. 

“We’ve got a decent walk ahead of us to the nearest outpost,” Donut informed him. “And it won’t be long until they send more soldiers to check up on those three we just saw obliterated.” He turned and headed toward the west, pausing only slightly to nod back to Tucker. “Try to keep up.”

Without warning, Donut lunged forward at top speed. 

“Whoa!” Tucker replied before kicking it into gear himself. 

He hoped Wash would be at the outpost -- hell, he’d even take Caboose at that point. Someone other than Donut to try and sink in that everything he was seeing was somehow real. 

  
Hope hummed next to him, pleased with the turn of events. 


	3. Chapter 3

Wash was not at the outpost. But a bunch of guys with needles ready to poke and prod Tucker until he turned purple were.

“Is this really necessary?” Tucker asked from the table they’d ask him to lie down on. The outpost was a small thing, buried in some tunnels on a cliffside, and even though Donut had assured him that the place wasn’t about to collapse on them all, Tucker couldn’t help but look at the cracked ceiling with unease. “I know, I look great without a shirt, but this is just-ow!”

One of the techies finished taking a vial of his blood and held it up to a light, an old looking thing that kept flickering. There were three personnel hovering over him at the moment and Tucker was both struck by how young and beat up they looked. They didn’t even have proper armor, wearing civies with plates they’d scrapped tied on. One of the techies gave the other the blood sample and Tucker watched as he walked off with it.

“The future sucks,” Tucker said, scowling at the ceiling. “I thought there was suppose to be cool shit in the future. Like, I don’t know, like decent customer service.”

“There will never be decent customer service,” a feminine voice, replied.  Tucker turned his head towards the doorway and took in the figure standing there. They were in red plate for the most part, not all part of the same set, but spray-painted to match. Curvy and on the shorter side, they leaned against the excuse they had for a doorframe. Unlike most of the people in the base, they had an actual helmet, and Tucker was surprised to find it resembled the same helmets Sim Troopers often wore. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“One of Captain Donut’s men. He’s talking to the General, and wanted me to check on you.” They pointed to the techies. “Get out. You don’t need to poke him more.”

“But Ma’am.” One of the techies scowled at the one who’d spoken up.

“Don’t call her Ma’am, she’s younger than us-”

“It’s a sign of respect, jackass. She is the-”

“I said out.” On that note the rest of the techies scattered, heading out the door. The woman in Red sighed, and walked over to Tucker, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

“So you’re Captain Tucker,” she said. “I expected you to be taller.”

Tucker’s nose scrunched up. “Fuck you.”

“Alright, that I expected.” She leaned forward and reached for her helmet, taking it off. To Tucker’s surprise, she did look rather young, baby fat still in her cheeks. She had brown skin, freckles covered her cheeks, and when she scowled, it made her look ages older. She couldn’t be older than sixteen. “What are you looking at?”

“You’re a kid.” That she was. Back in his timeline, back when things weren’t so fucked up, Tucker had helped train soldiers younger than him, but most of them had at least looked eighteen or older. This girl looked like she was still in school.

She looked at him a long moment before replying. “No one is a kid on this planet.” After a moment, she flipped open a piece of her armor, to reveal a keypad. A small screen came up. “Now, I’m here to ask a few questions. Answer them.”

“What, no please or thank you?”

The scowl directed his way reminded him far too much of the one’s Carolina used to use on him.

“Alright, alright, cool your jets. Ask away.”

The interview was thorough, to say the least. The girl went over almost everything, from his military record, to Junior, to his goddamn sexual history (and how the fuck did she know that). After she asked him everything about his life there was to know, she moved to more recent events. Chorus. The last thing he remembered. The artifact. Felix. Hope. When Tucker mentioned the A.I, he appeared for a moment, if only to look at their interviewer. She visibly paused before asking him some questions as well. 

“Lieutenant!” One of the techies said, peering their head into the medical room. “His tests check out!”

The Lieutenant, closed her keypad, and to Tucker’s surprise, she actually appeared to smile. “And so do the interviews. Congratulations, Captain Tucker. You’re not a robot.”

“That a regular problem around here?”

The silence he got in reply was worrisome.

“Captain Donut wants to see you. Both of you. The General is on the line.” The techie said after a pause. 

“Kimball is on the line?” Tucker sat up straighter. Now that was the name with someone with answers. The techie just looked at him, somewhat horrified.

Tucker didn’t have long to dwell on what that could mean. The Lieutenant got up, putting her helmet back on and she pointed to the counter where Tucker’s armor was. 

“Put it on and follow me.”

It took less than a minute for Tucker to get his armor on, and when he did, he followed the Lieutenant out in the hallway. It was poorly lit, mostly failing electric lights and an occasional candle. Tucker’s felt almost closed in as they walked through the tunnels. 

“So, how old are you anyway? Because you got a serious case of baby face, I mean wow.”

“Seventeen.” The Lieutenant didn’t slow down her walk. 

“And you’re a Lieutenant. At seventeen. What are you a prodigy or something?” 

The Lieutenant barked out a short laugh. It wasn’t a happy noise. “Maybe. But that wasn’t how I got the job.” Tucker stared at her for a moment for she answered. “I just managed to not die long enough that they were forced to promote me.”

Tucker let the fact that a seventeen year old could be the last qualified man standing for a commanding job, thought of Junior just heading into his teenage years back in his own timeline, and then felt a little like being sick. 

“We’re here.” The Lieutenant stopped in front of a pair of doors. “Look, don’t ask any questions unless asked them first. Don’t speak out of turn. Keep your eye on the screen. And, look General Donut told me to say this for some reason, but no sex jokes. We clear?”

Tucker looked at the doors. The General the Lieutenant was talking about did not sound like Kimball. “This guy a hardass or something?”

“You could say that. His ass is made of metal, after all.” Tucker didn’t miss the bitterness in her tone. There was history there. “Let’s say hello to the metal man, shall we?” With that she opened the doors.

“And the fact you took her to be one of your men shows absolutely no respect for my command-”

The room Tucker assumed was command was not much bigger than the medical room Tucker was in earlier. It didn’t contain much, only a table and a screen, and both looked put together by scraps found around. Donut stood in front of the table, leaning against it, next to two other men Tucker figured to be more of his agents. None of them wore their helmets, and Tucker was rather surprised to find a rather aggressive looking smirk on Donut’s face. And on the screen was-

“Holy shit, Simmons?”

The man on the screen turned to look at him, and holy shit, that was Simmons alright. The freckles were still there, along with the red hair, even if it was a little shorter with a hint of grey. His cyborg eye was still noticeable, even with the red light a little dimmer. Even the metal plating from his cyborg parts which crept out of his hairline was noticeable, even if a little dented. The clear signs of age were there, along with new scars, just like Donut, but Simmons, for the most part, was still entirely recognizable.

Except his expression. The Simmons, the Simmons Tucker knew, would have greeted him with surprise on seeing him again. He would have made a loud squeaking noise and his voice would have gone a pitch up, and it would be something to tease him about for another year. But this Simmons. His eyes just narrowed. And when he spoke, his voice was flat.

“Tucker. So you’re not dead.”

Tucker had heard Simmons sound like a lot of things within their thirteen years of knowing each other, but he’d never heard him sound  _ mean. _

“That’s no way to greet an old friend, Simmons!” Donut sounded much less tense than the last time Tucker saw him. “What about a hello? A howdy? Come’on Simmons, let’s make this greeting happy so when we finish this conversation, everyone comes out satisfied.”

Tucker choked on his saliva. He heard the Lieutenant snicker. Hope appeared on his shoulder for a brief moment to giggle. Simmons to his credit, just glared at Donut.

“I swear you do that on purpose.” He looked back to Tucker and lifted his chin. He looked...serious. But serious in a confident way, which was something new. “So time travel?”

“His story checks out,” the Lieutenant said, stepping forward. Simmons looked put off to see her, and his frown furthered. “I’m sending you the files now on both the bloodwork and the eval.”

“Lieutenant Fox, I didn’t allow you to attend this recon mission.”

The Lieutenant didn’t miss a beat. “Then good thing you aren’t my commanding officer.” 

Hope appeared on Tucker’s shoulder, looking at him. “What’s their deal?”

“Fuck it if I know.” First Donut became a badass, now Simmons was a hardass? If things kept going this route, Tucker was half expecting to find Caboose to be entirely serious and logical. 

“We’re taking him to the main camp,” Donut said, cutting through Tucker’s train of thought. “The Boss needs to see him. And the story checks out.”

Simmons looked at the crowd assembled. “With that for protection and a foreign A.I?  You could be slaughtered.”

“Not if we use the good old back door!” 

“Bow chicka bow wow,” Tucker whispered under his breath to the A.I. When he looked up at the screen, Simmons was actually blushing. Good. Maybe he could still show human emotion.

“Fine. But I’m sending an agent with you. He’ll meet you outside. Donut, keep a low profile. Tucker,” Simmons gaze on him felt actually a little threatening. “Don’t do anything stupid. Everyone else. Don’t die. General out.” And with that the screen flickered off.

“What a charmer!” Donut said after a pause, clapping his hands together. “Now everyone, let’s get our stuff together. We’re going on a roadtrip. James and Polk? Please talk to whatever Agent the General probably sent our ways hours ago without our permission. He should be outside. Fox, load up your gear and wait for us in the hanger. Tucker, with me.”

Tucker followed Donut as they headed into the back room and the rest of the group scattered. Donut looked to be grabbing his weapons, and when he tossed Tucker a sniper rifle, Tucker tried not to look surprise. “Don’t shoot it unless you have to. No one likes firing off premature.”

Tucker decided better than to comment, flinging the rifle over his shoulder. “So Simmons has changed, huh?”

Donut tucked some knives into his belt and shrugged. “Everyone has. A lot of time has gone by. We’ve had to adapt.”

“Everyone? You’re telling me that pacifist boyfriend of yours has become a badass as well?”

Tucker expected Donut to speak out against the boyfriend comment. Or to roll his eyes. Instead, he grew quiet.

“No. That was never the life for Doc. He wouldn’t have liked living like this.”

Liked? Tucker felt his stomach sink. Doc was dead? It sounded like it. There was no way-

“Let’s get moving.”

They left the back room, out the command room and headed down the hallway, working their way down below. After what felt like five minutes of walking, they met up with Lieutenant Fox, who was waiting for them in the lobby. She had a strange weapon over her shoulder and after a second, Tucker realized he’d seen it before.

“Holy, shit, is that the Grif shot!” He walked up to her as Donut carried on ahead. “Dude, does Grif know you have this? Cus if he does, how did you get your hands on it, he loved this thing, almost cried when they took it away after-”

“Captain Tucker.” Lieutenant Fox’s voice was grave. Almost pained. “Commander Grif has been dead for three years.”

Tucker stopped in place. His brain ground to a halt. Grif was what? There was no way. Tucker had seen him fucking yesterday, poking Simmons with a stick and bitching about the hot weather. There was no way-

“Felix got him,” Lieutenant Fox said. “Caught him and General Simmons on recon. The Commander didn’t make it.” When she spoke next, it was strangled. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

And with that, she turned on one heel and headed the same way as Donut, towards a pair of large doors.

Tucker stood there for a second. Felt the weight of his sword on his belt and the rifle over his shoulder. Felix had killed Grif? Grif, one of his best friends, Grif who actually bothered to share food with him some days, Grif who understood giving zero fucks about PFL. And Felix had killed him. With Simmons there.

Suddenly, it was become painfully clear in Tucker’s brain what might have motivated Simmons to change to the man he saw in that conference room. 

“Are you alright, Tucker?” Hope said, flaring to life on Tucker’s shoulder. Tucker just took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Tried to remember the world he left, the world where everyone was still alive, a world that might still exist.

“The future sucks, man.”

The doors in the front of the hanger opened. Tucker walked forward taking in the light streaming in. Standing outside were three men, two from the conference room earlier, and one Tucker didn’t recognize. Unlike the rest of the men assembled, he wore what looked to be one piece of armor, however worn, and as Tucker took in the flames and red jaw painted on the visor, he felt his eyebrows raise. 

A shark theme. Really? 

“Tucker, this is Sharkface,” Donut said, stepping aside. “Sharkface, this is Tucker.”

The blank gaze of a black visor and red paint stared back at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Fox is a bit of a cameo for Iz's readers. 
> 
> Grif's death had its own fic! Read about it [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6574033)


	4. Chapter 4

Technically speaking, Tucker had travelled in time before.

Yeah, it hadn’t been real, he knew that now, he had listened to the epic three hour Wash rant on the subject, but he could remember thinking that they had, standing on that sandy beach with the others, with no idea where Tex or Church were. (Or Doc or Lopez for that matter, but that hadn’t mattered at the time.)

After night had fallen, he could remember Grif wondering out loud to Simmons about if that meant everyone they knew back home was dead.

At the time, Tucker had thought he wouldn’t care about going forward in time. It wasn’t like he had anyone he really cared about--or at least, he hadn’t thought so.

But now?

Tucker knew the truth.

Skipping forward ten years while everyone else took the fucking slow path? And not just any slow path, but one where everything went to shit? Was the fucking _worst_.

Every single thing that Tucker was seeing on this twisted version of Chorus was horrifying.

They were travelling on foot. According to Lieutenant Fox, vehicle emissions were too easily tracked by the pirates. Which was not reassuring at all about the state of things.

Grif was _dead_. And Doc was too. He had no idea about any of the others, and he was afraid to ask, after seeing Donut’s face when he talked about Doc. He tried to remember what he had said to Caboose, back in Armonia before he left for the mission. Had he even talked to him? He remembered waving. At least, he thought he did.

He wondered about the lieutenants. Had they made it out of there okay? Had Felix let them go after Tucker had disappeared?

He found that hard to believe. He tried to take his mind off those depressing topics, but there wasn’t anything better to think of. The scenery had been absolutely obliterated, and even now that they were walking away from the fiery remains of Armonia, the sky still looked depressing.

The future was fucked. Hope let out a comforting hum, but Tucker ignored it. The way the others were acting around AI was still really confusing. He tapped against Hope’s chip, reassuring himself that it was still there. He’d get answers back at the main camp, he was sure of it. He just wasn’t sure if they would be answers he would like.

Sharkface was quiet, and spoke in short, snide sentences whenever Tucker tried to talk to him. Although that might have been because Tucker had been asking about his name. (Because, _seriously_ , what kind of name was Sharkface?)

Donut was quiet as well, serious again now that they were back out in the open. Donut being serious and reserved was one of the weirder things that Tucker had ever seen, and he didn’t like it, even if it was pretty cool to see Donut move like a badass. It was just another reminder of how much had changed.

“So,” Tucker finally asked, when the stifling silence had gone on for too long. “Why the fuck is Armonia on _fire_?”

Sharkface turned towards him. If it weren’t for the helmet, Tucker was pretty sure he would have seen a _very_ big grin. Probably with a lot of teeth too, because Sharkface seemed like that kind of guy.  “Like that? Took me _months_ to plant those explosives in exactly the right places. Took out at least five of their stupid alien technology labs, and the whole fucking city’s going to be on fire for at least a week.”

“What kind of explosives do _that_?”

“Our weapons expert is _very_ creative,” Lieutenant Fox said with grim satisfaction. “And we’ve been able to utilize a few pieces of alien technology. If there’s one thing the resistance is good at, it’s blowing things up.”

Tucker glanced over his shoulder, where he could still see the smoke from Armonia. “I can see that,” he said. He wondered how far back they’d lost Armonia, that they would be willing to just destroy it, rather than try and retake it. He suspected the answer might be “ten years.”  

“If I ever need a man to blow,” Donut said cheerfully, “I can always count on Sharkface.”

Sharkface seemed to have the amazing ability to ignore Donut, and didn’t so much as sigh at his words. Which was a pretty grand achievement, since Donut’s ability to innuendo crossed the boundaries of _species_. When they’d been in the desert together, Donut had managed to embarrass pretty much every alien at the dig site without even knowing a single word in their language. Even years of long-term Donut exposure hadn’t stopped Grif from having to stop eating when Donut found a good enough double entendre.

Tucker stopped for a moment as he realized that Grif didn’t react to Donut’s sexual phrasing anymore.

Grif was _dead_.

The sky was a different color, Simmons was a hardass, Donut could throw knives, and the once lush and green Chorus landscape was littered with the leafless skeletons of trees, but nothing seemed to embody what was wrong with this strange future than that fact.

Grif was fucking _dead_. Dead and buried, and Felix had done it.

Tucker knew, logically, it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been there. He’d jumped straight from point A to point B, and he couldn’t have done anything to help Grif, or stop Felix.

But that didn’t exactly make Tucker feel any better.

Several times, they had to get off the road because a patrol was heading their way. Instead of fighting, they hid, which was pretty hard, given that everything was brown and all of their armor was fairly noticeable. When Tucker asked why, the answer was simple. They didn’t want Charon to know they were coming this way. Dead bodies were a trail that could be followed.

Tucker had known things had to be bad; they were a _resistance_ for a reason, after all, but the fact that they were actively hiding was kind of terrifying. They’d gone a long way from the tentative truce in Armonia, and not in a good way.

Finally, they got to a set of old alien ruins tucked into the middle of the general terribleness that was the Chorus countryside. Tucker thought that it had probably been a temple once, but that was mostly just a guess from what he’d seen previously of alien architecture both on Chorus and during his time as a diplomat. It wasn’t one of the towers that studded the Chorus skyline, instead being a relatively short building, with the roof caved in, but with dramatic looking pillars surrounding the entrance that actually kind of reminded Tucker of the artifact, only they weren’t glowing. The temple had been bombed out at some point, and clearly had been raided by Charon for anything useful or valuable. Entire sections of the walls were missing, and any trace of alien writing was gone. Even the lights were gone.

“Welcome to main camp,” Donut said, spreading his arms widely. “We’re coming in from behind!”

Tucker looked around, although his lips couldn’t help but twitch at the comment. “Dude, there’s nothing here.”

“This is the entrance,” Sharkface said impatiently. “Keep moving.”

“Sharkface!” Donut said, sounding wounded. “You can’t just skip right to the main event! You need to work up to it! Pace yourself!”

Sharkface ignored Donut again, leading the way behind a large chunk of stone that looked like it had been some sort of internal support before the bombing had knocked it over. “Help me with this,” he grunted, and Fox and one of the other scouts went to help him lift it up, revealing a trapdoor.

“We moved underground pretty early on,” Donut said to Tucker. “Lot harder for them to hit you when they can’t find you!”

“This is our twelfth main location,” Lieutenant Fox said. “We have bases everywhere, but this is central command.”

“Why do you need to move so often?” Tucker blurted, unthinking.

They all gave him a _look_ for that, even Donut.

“They keep finding us of course,” Sharkface grunted, wrenching the trapdoor open. “We’ve been here six months. It’s a good place. Nice and secure. They don’t think we’d dare go near any of their alien ruins.”

The trapdoor dropped them into a short tunnel with bare concrete walls, at the end of which was a set of heavy metal doors with no handle or any other identifiable way to open them. The doors were simple, clearly not of alien make either. Just a sturdy metal door able to resist basically anything Charon could throw at it. Tucker would have been willing to bet it was too thick to even cut through with his sword. It must have taken a lot of time to make. He wondered if they had needed doors like that in the past.

“Identify yourselves,” a tiny, mechanical voice said over the speakers. It was so distorted by static that Tucker couldn’t even tell if he knew who the person on the other end was. That might have been intentional, Tucker guessed. He found it hard to believe that Lopez would have let the radios get in such a bad state of disrepair.

Donut saluted, and all of the other soldiers stiffened, including Sharkface, into a sort of parade rest. “We’re back from patrol, Boss!” Donut said.

“Were you followed?” The voice demanded.

“No,” Sharkface said, stepping forward. He was looking at something, and Tucker glanced towards where he was looking, unsurprised to find a security camera there. “Ran into two patrols, but no we did not engage. We kept low, and they didn’t notice us.”

“Excellent,” the door swung open, and a familiar figure in aqua armor stood on the other side, flanked by several soldiers that Tucker didn’t know. “Welcome back, Scout Team One,” she said, no longer using the speaker.  

Carolina’s armor was mostly intact, unlike Donut’s, but it was in terrible shape, even worse than Sharkface’s. Giant dents and scrapes had gone with only partial repairs, and the paint was chipped in a lot of places. It was functional still, Tucker didn’t doubt, but it was a far cry from the intimidating and well-polished Freelancer look that Tucker remembered.

“Tucker,” she said quietly, looking at him as they all moved forward, behind the safety of the doors. The doors swung shut behind them with a loud clanging noise and Tucker couldn’t help but flinch. It was like being trapped. Tucker shifted under Carolina’ eyes, unsure of what to say or do. Before he could decide, she turned away from him, her attention going to the squad. “Go to intelligence, submit your reports. Donut, I want a briefing soon. We need to understand _exactly_ what happened here. I don’t want any more surprises, and we need to know what Charon knows _yesterday_.”

“You got it!” Donut said. The scouts walked off, but Donut lingered, standing next to Tucker, as if to provide comfort.

“Sharkface, contact Simmons, make sure he’s up to date,” Carolina ordered. “Tucker, you’re with me. Doctor Grey has some more tests to run.”

Tucker wished that just hearing that Grey was alive wasn’t a huge relief. But it was.

“Yes ma’am,” Sharkface said, striding away.

Donut began to walk away too, but he paused by Carolina, placing a hand on her shoulder. He said something that Tucker couldn’t hear. Whatever it was though, something seemed to soften in Carolina for a moment, and she nodded. Donut kept walking, and Carolina’s shoulders straightened, back to business.

Carolina looked back at him again. “Follow me,” she ordered, and Tucker was reminded of Carolina back when they’d first met her. All angry and yelling and all about ‘the mission’. There wasn’t any hints of the softer personality she’d picked up hanging out with them.

He also couldn’t help but notice that Church hadn’t come out to say hello. The knowledge sat heavily in his stomach.

Not Church, he thought, a bit desperately. Church had only just gotten _back_. Or at least, he had only just gotten back ten years ago. Tucker bit his lip. He hated every single thing about this.

Hope hadn’t come out to say anything, not since they’d left. Given how Donut had reacted, Tucker wasn’t sure he blamed him.

She led him through a virtual warren of tunnels and bunkers. There were soldiers in Fed armor working right alongside New Republic soldiers, and there were plenty of soldiers whose armor was a mix-match of both, cobbled together with pieces of Charon Industries make. Very few people had complete matches anymore, which made Tucker stand out even more. He felt their eyes on him, as well as hearing their whispers. He wasn’t sure what they were saying. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

It was hard to believe; two days ago a Federal Soldier had tackled a New Republic soldier for taking the last piece of toast in the cafeteria, which had broken out into a full on brawl that had taken Wash and Carolina an hour to break up. Now they were working alongside each other without so much as an angry glare.

It was what they had been hoping to build, back home.

And it had only taken them ten years and a lot of dead bodies to get there.

Tucker felt sick, and tried to ignore the looks that they were giving him. He wondered if they knew who he was, or if he was just a stranger to these soldiers.

Finally, they got to the infirmary.

It looked pretty much like the one back in Armonia, albeit with a lot of unoccupied beds, right down to Doctor Grey. Grey seemed relatively intact, compared to the others, her armor still a pristine white and her purple trimmings shining brightly in the bright artificial light of the infirmary. But that would make sense, Tucker thought. She was a doctor, not a soldier. She would have been relatively safe.

“I need you to get those wires over here!” Grey called to someone Tucker, before turning to face them. She paused. “Well! Captain Tucker! If it isn’t just _wonderful_ to see you alive! After Felix turned up with that alien sword we were _sure_ your corpse was decomposing in a mass grave somewhere!”

“Missed you too, Doctor Grey,” Tucker said, and oddly enough, he wasn’t being sarcastic. Unlike pretty much everyone else on this planet? Grey seemed pretty much the same. It was nice.  

“I’ll leave you to it,” Carolina said, before leaving Tucker alone with Grey.

“They found you outside Armonia, didn’t they? Tell me, what color were the fires? It took me _ages_ to get those explosives just right, and I _know_ Terrance won’t have taken effective notes again.”

“Terrance?” Tucker repeated, confused.

“Oh, he calls himself Sharkface, but that’s not the name on my charts!”

“Uh, the fire looked pretty normal? Really big though, like, _huge_.”

“Are you sure? No strange greenish tints?” Grey asked, sounding disappointed.

She took off her helmet, and Tucker tried not to stare at the snowy white streaks that ran through her previously dark hair. Lines covered her face, making her look a lot older than Tucker remembered. And her eyes... despite the cheer in her voice, her eyes were flat and tired. Tucker’s stomach twisted as he realized that it was all an act. She was trying to keep things normal, but Grey was just as affected by all this as the others had been.

“Not that I could tell,” Tucker said. “It was burning entire buildings though.”

“Oh good.” Grey brandished her needle with a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Now, armor off, Captain Tucker! I’m going to need a few blood samples.”

“I did this at the last base,” Tucker complained, but he obliged, taking his armor off for the second time in a very short period of time. It was hard to believe that only a day ago, he’d been putting his armor _on_ in his room while Wash nagged him about being careful. He winced, thinking of Wash. Tucker guessed he should have listened better. He wondered what Wash had thought, when Tucker hadn’t come back.

Doctor Grey froze for a moment when his helmet came off, but swiftly recovered. “Oh, those tests were to check if you were a _robot_ , sweetie! I’m checking to make sure you’re not a clone, or if you _are_ a time traveller, that you’re not radiating anything toxic! It’s just a normal screening to make sure you’re clean!”

“Bow-chicka-bow-wow,” Tucker couldn’t help but add. Grey gave him a quick smile that made her eyes light up slightly, but faded quickly.

Ten years had taken quite a toll, it seemed.  

There was a clatter of metal, and Tucker and Grey’s heads both whipped up to look for the source of the noise.

“What the-- _Jensen_?”

Jensen wasn’t wearing all of her armor, that’s the first thing Tucker noticed. Her helmet was off, and one entire arm was exposed, although it took a moment for Tucker to realize it wasn't some sort of new type of under-armor, because it was distinctly _not_ a human arm. She had a robot replacement.

But even weirder was how _old_ she looked. Jensen had been baby-faced and acne-ridden, still a teenager, for all that she was a soldier. But now? She was definitely an adult. Hell, she looked older than Tucker probably had looked when he had first arrived at Blood Gulch. She was taller, too. She was covered in scars that Tucker didn’t recognize, and that made his stomach twist, because _fuck._

“Captain _Tucker_?” She yelped, and then she threw herself at him, sobbing.

“Whoa!” Tucker nearly fell off the bed he was sitting on due to the force. Her grip was _strong_ as she hugged him tightly, which was making Tucker really regret taking his armor off.

“You’re _alive_!” Jensen sobbed. “I can’t believe it! So much has happened, and it’s--it’s--” She was rapidly becoming less coherent, but she kept talking. Tucker thought he heard a “Corporal Grif”, a few “Andersmiths”, and a “Bitters” in there for sure.

“Katie,” Grey said soothingly. “You need to let Captain Tucker go. We need to make sure the time travel didn’t affect him.”

“We?” Tucker asked.

“I’m Doctor Grey’s assistant now,” Jensen said, wiping away her tears as she let Tucker go and took several steps back, taking deep breaths to try to steady herself.

“We need every hand in the infirmary we can get, these days,” Grey said with a cheer that Tucker could tell was fake.

Tucker spotted a faint yellow line painted on Jensen’s robot hand. “Wait,” he yelped. “Are you _married_?”

“Yes!” She smiled, and Tucker belatedly realized that her lisp was gone. “Charles and I got married five years ago.”

Tucker paused. “Wait, you married _Palomo_?”

“Yes,” Jensen said, and there was a set to her jaw that made Tucker think twice about making fun of her husband. It probably would be in bad taste anyways.

“So you guys all got out of there okay?” He asked. “Felix didn’t--”

“Felix was gone by the time we got out,” Jensen said quietly. “And so were you. We thought--we thought you’d been captured. Everyone was looking everywhere for you.”

“Until Felix turned up with a sword that looked a _lot_ like the one you had,” Grey said. “And, since everyone was sure that the only way he could use your sword was if you were dead, we came to the conclusion he’d killed you.”

“He said he had!” Jensen added, looking distressed. “He kept saying--” She cut herself off. “It was awful,” she finished quietly.

Tucker frowned, and grabbed his sword. It activated normally. “Well, it’s not _my_ sword,” he said, frowning.

“Hmm,” Grey tilted her head to one side. “That would indicate that there was a _second_ sword present on the planet the whole time, completely independent of yours.” She tapped her chin, thoughtfully. “Well _that_ has some interesting implications on our intelligence for the past ten years! I’ll be sure to tell Donut.”

“Donut?” Tucker blinked.

“He runs intelligence,” Jensen said.

Tucker paused. “We’re talking about _Donut_ , right?”

Grey let out a small laugh. “Well, everyone has had to step up _quite_ a bit over the past few years. There have been a _lot_ of dead bodies!”

Tucker settled down on the bed, wearing only a tank top and his boxers. “So, you married Palomo. Bitters and Andersmith around?”

Jensen dropped the needle she was holding.

“Lieutenant Bitters is MIA, I’m afraid,” Grey said, handing Jensen a new needle.

“What?” Tucker blurted.

“He _left_ ,” Jensen said, hands shaking. “He just... he _left_ , and it was...” she cut herself off. “Andersmith died,” she said, and a tear started making its way down her face. “John _died_ , and it--it was my fault, Captain Tucker, and I couldn’t--”

Grey placed a firm hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “Time for that later!” Her smile was wide but her eyes were still dull. “Right now, we have medicine to practice!” She gestured at Tucker. “If you don’t mind, can I see that AI chip you had with you? I need to make sure it’s not bugged and going to bring the entire armies of Charon down on our heads!”

“I think they checked that back at the last place,” Tucker said, handing over Hope’s chip anyways.

“Double checking is always important, Captain Tucker?” Grey said cheerfully.

Jensen started to draw the blood, and Grey set about setting things up for running whatever test they needed to run. She moved faster than Tucker remembered, bouncing between her stations at a rapid-fire pace, never stopping for a moment, humming softly under her breath the whole time, a spring in her step that Tucker would be willing to bet was forced.

Whatever it was that had broken Grey, it had hit her _hard_.

“So,” Tucker knew he was going to regret asking, but he needed to know. “Why’s Carolina in charge? What happened to Kimball? And Doyle?”

Grey paused for moment, holding Hope’s chip in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. Jensen kept drawing blood. Her lips formed a thin, tight line. “General Doyle was killed a year after you disappeared, sir,” Jensen said quietly. “General Kimball died two years later.”

 _That’s war, Tucker. Not everyone makes it back!_ Felix’s old words echoed in his mind, and Tucker clenched his fists. Not now. He couldn’t afford to think of that now. And especially not about Felix, not when the asshole had probably killed at least one of them.

“Fuck,” Tucker said, instead.

“That about sums things up,” Carolina had returned, and she sounded tired as hell. Her helmet was off, tucked under one arm, and Tucker couldn’t help but stare, unable to stop himself. Her hair seemed paler, no longer the bright, striking red he remembered catching glimpses of before. It was shorter, too, cropped close at the back in a tight pixie cut. When she turned her head to look at Grey, Tucker noticed her implant site had been sealed up, like it had been fused together.  

There was no way Church was in there. Tucker swallowed, his throat dry and his heart hammering.

Everything he learned about this future just kept getting worse and worse.

He hoped he could make it home and stop all this from happening.

“So where are the others?” He asked instead, tearing his eyes away from Carolina’s implant site. “Where’s Wash? Where’s Caboose? What about Sarge?”

He didn’t ask about Church. He’d get Donut to tell him later.

Carolina stopped in her tracks, surprise flickering across her face. “You... of course you don’t.”

Tucker froze. They were all dead. All of them. Fuck, that was--

“Agent Washington’s alive, Captain Tucker,” Grey said kindly. “He’s on a mission of his own right now, I’m afraid. Now open up,” she added, and Tucker opened his mouth obligingly so she could swab the inside of his cheek.

“You let him go off alone?” He asked Carolina when Grey withdrew. That seemed like a _terrible_ idea.  

Her face darkened. “I don’t _let_ Wash do anything, these days,” she said quietly. “We lost Sarge early in year three. He was captured. They executed him live on television to try to break morale.”

“They had Lopez kill him,” Jensen said quietly.

Tucker froze again, but this time in confusion. “What? Lopez might be a jackass, but he wouldn’t do that!”

“They reprogramed him,” Carolina said, sitting down on the hospital bed across from Tucker. Exhaustion was carved into every line on her face. She looked _old_ , and Tucker didn’t like it one bit.  “He was captured a few weeks before Sarge. They keep having him on the front lines.”

“ _Very_ effective psychologically, if I do say so!” Grey said.

“They’re good at that,” Carolina sounded bitter.

Tucker shifted uneasily. “And Caboose?”

Jensen stood up. “I--I’ll go get those results for you, Doctor Grey.” She ran off without so much as another word to Tucker, which made the pit in his stomach grow. Not Caboose... he thought, desperately. Not _Caboose_.

“We lost Caboose in year five,” Carolina whispered, head bowed. “He--” She closed her eyes, and took a breath before starting again. “Charon has rogue AI. Usually implanted into bodies. It got Caboose to lower its guard, then killed him.” She opened her eyes, but wouldn’t look at Tucker, her gaze focused on the floor. “I’m sorry, Tucker.”

Tucker was silent for a long, long time.

This was _wrong_ . Everything about this world was twisted and awful. Grif had died and Simmons had watched. They had all seen Sarge die. Caboose-- _fuck_. Most days, Tucker would have to be pressed to even call Caboose his friend. But learning he was dead felt like Felix was stabbing him all over again. It was _wrong_ , and it _hurt_ , and Tucker didn’t know what to do about any of this.

There were so few survivors. It wasn’t _right_.

“You guys won at all?” Tucker forced himself to say. “C’mon, it can’t all have been doom and gloom for years.”

“Very few,” Carolina said. “Wash destroyed some key Charon technology last year, but you having a new AI proves they’re still readily supplied and able to replace what they’ve lost.” The words were bitter. “We’ve destroyed some buildings, we’ve converted Sharkface--”

“Sharkface _worked_ for those guys?” Tucker interrupted, incredulous.

“He did.” There was clearly a story there, but Carolina’s jaw was set in a way that told him she really wasn’t in the mood for sharing. “We also prevented them from killing every person on this planet using the alien technology, but that came at a cost.” Her face was twisted in old grief and regret.

“What cost?” Tucker forced himself to ask. He needed to _know_.

Her eyes closed. “Church,” she said, and Tucker flinched.

“Damn it,” he whispered. There was another long silence after that.

Carolina finally continued, although the words were quiet. “Locus is also dead, we’re sure of that. We don’t know  how he died, exactly, but he definitely went missing for a while. One of the AI uses his old armor, which makes it hard to disprove rumors, but it’s another game.”

“Why the fuck are they playing so many games?” Tucker demanded. “That doesn't make any sense!”

“That’s Hargrove for you! He never does things vanilla!” Donut had arrived, and Tucker was mentally considering all of the ways to remove that mental image from his brain forever. “I’m ready to brief you,” he added, looking at Carolina.

“Good,” Carolina got to her feet, picking up her helmet. “Let’s move this to the war room then. We’ve got plans to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rena's written about what happened to Sarge and Lopez! [Check it out!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6529093)
> 
> For those of you who are curious about Jensen and the Lieutenants, she also wrote [This!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6298072)


	5. Chapter 5

The war room, much like everything else at the main camp, was not much to call home about. Which was saying something since Tucker had been a captain with the New Republic back when it was hiding out in the caves of Chorus. He wondered if the soldiers -- specifically _his_ soldiers -- thought back on those days fondly.

Tucker sure as hell never thought the day would come when he did.

Carolina had gone to get something, probably boss people around as was her way -- or _used_ to be her way -- and Tucker had felt surprisingly okay with that.

When he had first arrived in the supposed future, he had imagined finding his friends and any other familiar faces would have only helped to comfort him. But right then, sitting alone in the war room, Tucker realized what a relief it was not be around changed acquaintances.

He wasn’t sure how much more change he was going to be able to stomach.

“Everything sucks,” he ground out at last, putting his face in his hands as he released a long, overdue sigh of aggravation.

“Aw, that’s no way to look at things, Tucker,” Hope huffed, finally projecting over his shoulder and giving him the wide-eyed head tilt that was coming to annoy the aqua marine quite a bit.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Tucker replied sourly, looking up to meet Hope’s look with a pout of his own. “Where have you even been? You’ve been pretty quite since Donut got spooked by you.”

The AI rubbed its shoulder bashfully. “Hope’s a fickle thing,” it decided on.

“What kind of fortune cookie shit is _that?”_ Tucker complained just as the doors opened to the war room with a hiss, revealing old, changed faces. _Again._

Tucker was getting ready to request a refund for repetition for his horror show.

Carolina, Simmons, Donut, and Doctor Grey continued into the room as if they hadn’t just left Tucker in for a secret meeting of their own. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that instilled a lot of confidence in Tucker for whatever it was that they were about to tell him.

Again, not that anything that he had been told in the past twenty-four hours had been particularly _good_ to begin with, of course.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Tucker asked. “Though, I’m guessing the exchange rate for pennies in the future are pretty much fucked. How much is a thought worth these days?”

“There isn’t time for jokes today, Tucker,” Carolina informed him rather harshly, making Hope flicker in insecurity.

“Though the attempt at levity _is_ appreciated,” Donut informed him with an attempt at a smirk.

“Good to know,” Tucker muttered as the others made their way to the table Tucker was already at. He watched carefully as they took their seats, a noticeable and uncomfortable shift was made by all of them toward Hope’s projection.

And judging by the AI’s quiet flickering, Tucker wasn’t the only one to notice the concentration of their gazes.

“There’s a lot on the table we need to get into now that we have you with us,” Carolina informed him, looking briskly through her notes before neatly filing them away. She tapped her fingers on the table as she turned her head more directly to Tucker. It made him feel rather on the spot all over again. “But first and foremost, I need to hear more about your friend here.”

Blinking in surprise some, Tucker tilted his head before Hope caught his eye again. He looked from the AI to Carolina and back before finally catching on. “What? _Hope?_ I mean… what about it? It’s just an AI. From the sounds of it you guys have more experience dealing with these things than I do anymore.”

“That would be right from a strictly numerical perspective,” Doctor Grey replied, her voice edging enough on chipper that Tucker could almost feel at ease around her.

“But we don’t have experience with this one,” Simmons said, steepling his fingers in a stiff and calculated manner. “And we’ve learned to take a certain amount of caution around _anything_ that could be attributed to Charon Industries.”

“No shit,” Tucker huffed in aggravation. “Not sure what you want out of us, though. I mean, fucksake, I barely know what day it is right now.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Doctor Grey attempted soothingly.

“Hell _yeah_ it’s a lot to take in!” Tucker snapped. “Come on, I thought we were done playing twenty questions, guys. Let’s do something about all of this.”

“We should be the change we want to see!” Hope added.

He frowned at the AI. “Oh, come on, dude. Enough with the fortune cookie stuff. I’m begging you.”

“We’ll be getting to the _doing stuff_ in a bit,” Donut chimed in, a forced smile on his face that almost looked painful. “But first, Tucker, let’s just clear up some stuff. Now, earlier you referred to this AI as _Hope_ , didn’t you?”

Tucker allowed silence to carry them through another beat before crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, _yeah._ I did. Is that important or something? Not that I’m growing attached to the little guy or anything -- believe me, I’ve dealt with _enough_ asshole AIs over the years, I’ve got my fill of those -- but you guys seem pretty shifty about AI and I don’t want anyone getting happy trigger fingers on the guy.”

It took until the visible flinch in Carolina’s shoulders before Tucker realized how far he was sticking his foot into his own mouth. And it hit again, that twisting dread of knowing that Church was counted among their casualties.

“It’s just a question,” Donut assured him, a certain flicker to his eyes. “Information’s kinda my thing these days. You’ll forgive the curiosities, I just like pressing the limits.”

“I think it’s okay, Tucker,” Hope said with a nod. “Plus! Trigger fingers aren’t going to matter much. I think they go right through avatars!”

“Well, _yeah,_ dude, but try to think some of the poor guy standing on the other side of your projection,” Tucker begged a little as he waved to himself.

“Tucker, you and this AI are fine,” Carolina remarked. “I merely want to make sure of the fragment’s designation. Is _Hope_ your actual emotional center or are you simplifying for the rest of us what you actually embody?” she asked the AI more directly.

Hope bounced a bit, almost as squirmy under the interrogation light as Tucker was himself, but ultimately it nodded. “My emotional capacity is rather small,” it admitted reluctantly. “What I do have is hope!”

Something in the glint of Carolina’s visor was off for a moment as she listened to Hope’s prattling. There was a certain quiet understanding from her, or maybe a touch of emotion that would have been far more explosive and hardy in the Carolina that Tucker was familiar with. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold but acknowledging nod.

“Very well,” she replied, turning toward Simmons on her right.

“The fragment of Hope, discarded by Charon Industries only to be uncovered by a lost war hero,” Simmons said somewhat blankly. “We could spin that to something and raise morale to the troops. It could be the spark we’ve needed these last few months.”

“You’re still pushing for this?” Doctor Grey asked, somewhat worried in her voice. She turned almost completely from Tucker and Hope in order to look more directly at Carolina and Simmons. “After everything, you still want to push us to another conflict? So fast? With so few soldiers?”

“Not _another_ conflict, Doctor,” Simmons argued. “A _final_ conflict. Putting everything we have into the assault. No holding back.”

Tucker felt horribly over his head in the conversation. Though, that didn’t seem quite right either -- he was completely _out_ of the discussion. He and Hope glanced sidelong at each other and back to the table of Scary Adults.

Donut had a hand to his chin, humming carefully in thought before glancing back up to Carolina with his good eye. “I’ve not been able to get in anymore of Charon’s holes lately. Not even with my old moles. But every ounce of information I have has us horribly outnumbered. Our outpost for now is good, but the sheer _numbers_ they have on constant patrols in every sector? Luck won’t be on our side for long. Especially with intel out of date.” He glanced toward Hope. “And the fact that Charon’s back to AI splitting without so much as a peep on my radar about it doesn’t bode well either. Sorry, Boss. But I can’t give us anything we don’t know.”

“It’s appreciated all the same,” Carolina sighed. “A final assault… Talking everyone into this is going to be a mountain to climb. A move that’s more about the _symbolism_ of the sacrifice rather than giving our warriors the freedoms and livelihoods they’ve been pushing for. But if even one person survives to see our message spread, to see Charon pay for what it’s done, then I’ll consider it a success.”

“Whoa, hold up!” Tucker cried out, putting his hands down on the table loudly. He watched as all eyes turned on him. “With how you guys are talking? Sure sounds like you’re saying you want people to run a Hail Mary. _Sounds_ like you’re wanting to ask people to die.”

They stared at him in silence for a moment, but for Tucker his ears were ringing.

_That’s war, Tucker._

“I must agree with Tucker to some degree,” Doctor Grey said, turning back toward the others. “Are we _certain_ there’s not another arrangement to be made? Are we _sure_ there are no more survivors we can recruit?”

“There must be!” Hope spoke up. “I mean… as long as there’s hope…”

“We need more than hope,” Carolina replied. “We need to think with more than heads in the cloud, and you two haven’t been here. You don’t understand that what we have, what we _hope_ for is not conventional victory. It’s making a retaliation for everything these people -- _our_ people have suffered.”

“You don’t have anything if you don’t have hope,” Hope argued weakly.

“No,” a deeper voice Tucker wasn’t familiar with spoke up. He watched in surprise as another AI flickered to life over Carolina’s shoulder. Its head was turned slightly away from Tucker and Hope, head low by its shoulders. “We have _resolution._ ”

Carolina looked to Tucker quietly before waving a hand to the AI. “Tucker, this is Resolve. For a while we thought he was the last of the salvageable AI that Charon discarded.”

“He’s in a mood,” Donut said apologetically.

“He always is,” Simmons replied crossly.

Hope flickered brightly for a moment. “There’s more AI? Like me?”

“You can have all Seven Dwarves right now and it doesn’t matter,” Tucker argued, getting to his feet. “You guys said I wasn’t here and that I don’t know shit about what’s going on. And you know what? That’s abso-fucking-lutely true! But that means you guys have lost some perspective, and I’m going to provide it for you right now: you said it yourself, you need Hope and you need me. You need us for your soldiers to go on whatever final stand you have in mind.” He narrowed his gaze, grip tightening on the edge of the table. “Well, I don’t exactly feel like being _used_ for that unless you assholes can think of something that’s just as big, just as glorious, with as few of our guys biting the dust as possible.”

Donut blinked a few times before running a hand through his hair. “Tucker, it’s not that simple. The weapons specs I’ve gotten a hold of over the years -- they’ve decimated us with a _lot_ less than their best.”

“Yeah, well, that just means they don’t have the element of surprise,” Tucker huffed. “We do.”

“Surprise attack?” Simmons asked. “It’s our only _surprise_ advantage.”

“No, it’s not,” Tucker replied before reaching to his sword, turning it on in a swing. “I am!”

The counsel stared at him just before the table cracked from the slice, making Tucker back up slightly in embarrassment as the table collapsed inwards.

“Oh, uh,” Tucker coughed awkwardly.

“No, no you’re right,” Doctor Grey said, standing up herself. As if the table hadn’t just been broken in front of all of them. “Can’t you see what opportunity Tucker’s arrival has provided us? What possibilities have been brought forth by his ill fit to our own continuity?”

The others stared at her for a moment before Carolina crossed her arms.

“No, Emily,” Carolina said flatly. “We rarely understand theory before you elaborate.”

“Tucker does not belong here, he is a disruption to the time continuum as we know it,” she explained enthusiastically. “If he is here, then that can mean that there is a chance his presence has altered our history entirely.”

“But what does that _mean_ exactly?” Simmons asked.

Holding up one finger, Doctor Grey smiled at them. “Tucker is from ten years ago, when -- to us -- he disappeared rather suddenly and unexpectedly. And, if Felix is not to be believed,” the group shifted uncomfortably, “without a trace. When, in reality what happened is more profound.” She held up the same finger on the other hand before moving the “Tucker Finger” to its side. “Tucker, in no time to him at all, landed in our current timeline, in tact and with every chronal signature of his original position.”

“Chronal signature?” Donut asked with a tilt of his head.

Tucker scratched his head. “I’m one of the fingers and I’m confused, Doctor Grey.”

“Chronal signature, if you ever read a sci-fi book,” Simmons spoke up, sounding like the Simmons Tucker knew for about the first time since he had arrived, “would mean that there’s a certain energy or age to your molecules. It means that you, having not aged like the carbon around you, don’t match on a subatomic level. You could start experiencing a pushback that would try to realign you where your carbon-base matches those around you.”

Carolina and Donut, at least, joined Tucker in staring at the two in complete perplexment.

“English. _Please,”_ Tucker begged.

“You, by not belonging to this time, could be very soon placed under extreme chronal pressure to be sent _back_ to where you belong,” Doctor Grey explained. “It’s simply that the energies are building up to a point to match the same amount of energy that was necessary to push you this far forward in the timeline to begin with.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Tucker replied, brows furrowing in concern.

“It could be deadly!” Doctor Grey assured him.

“Wow,” Tucker remarked, feeling entirely uneasy.

“But more than that it’s _disruptive_ ,” Grey went on. “Tucker, your presence _now_ could mean that everything between your _now_ and our _now_ is subject to change. It could mean that our _future_ , for the first time, is something that feels like a variable rather than a death sentence.”

“And here I wasn’t even important enough to get the sniper rifle,” Tucker marveled. He glanced to his AI partner. “Hear that, Hope? I’m going to save the universe.”

“World,” Grey corrected.

“That’s still huge!” Donut said supportively. His scowl worked its way back onto his features. “Though… gotta say, it doesn’t help much with _our_ situation. I mean, I’d like to take an extra ten years off my face, too, but… what if that’s _not_ how this is all working out? What if we still have to deal with the present?”

“Science fiction is all about worrying about the problems of tomorrow,” Simmons agreed. “No one at this table is going to ask for a reset button harder than I am, but this isn’t something to hang our hats on. We need to act, Carolina. We need to act now, and we have to make it count or else… or else our last ten years really _are_ for nothing.” He sent an angry glare Tucker’s way, nearly taking the Blue’s breath away. “And, I’m sorry, but I _refuse_ to think the people we’ve lost died for anything less.”

Tucker glanced off, scratching at his chin as Carolina sighed and nodded.

“I agree,” she said lowly. “We can’t just _hope_ that this is a bad dream. Hope… hope has to be more than that. It has to be an alleviation of all we’ve done.”

“And even _if_ it can all be undone by Mister Time-Travel-Pants over here,” Resolve said with a throw of his thumb toward Tucker, “then we’re still looking at a Nothing To Lose scenario, Boss. So why not, either way.”

“We’ll need everything in our corner that we can afford,” Carolina said, eyes turning on Tucker. “That includes you, Tucker. This work of fiction Doctor Grey and you have worked up is nice and all, but we need to know that you’re going to help us in the here and now as much as you can.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s a lot to ask of you, but--”

“It’s _nothing_ to ask of me,” Tucker said, heart pounding in his chest. “I mean, I’ve been willing to die for Chorus before… hell, what’s to make today any different. This is my home now, too.”

“Then we’re going to need as many hands on deck as possible,” Carolina said, a grateful quirk to her nod. She then looked to Donut.

Almost immediately, Donut deflated with a sigh. “Oh, no.”

“Donut,” she said, hands on her hips. “I need you to set up a meeting with Wash.”

“You know, he’s _really_ not going to like… _any_ of this,” Donut said, scratching at his jaw. “Maybe you should let me go out and try to explain stuff to him first.”

“No,” Carolina cut him short. “We can’t walk on eggshells for anything or anyone anymore. We need him, and like it or not, he’ll join if Tucker’s here.”

“If he _believes_ it--” Donut began to argue.

“Oh, for crying out loud, guys. _Take_ Tucker with you,” Simmons replied, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have time for this, and we need all the extra help we can get. So just do it. I’ll stay here and get everyone prepared with Doctor Grey.”

Donut still looked less than convinced but he sighed and got to his feet all the same.

“Okay, let’s get a move on it,” Carolina said, waving to the door. “We’re going to hit Charon, Hargrove, and that fucker Felix before they can even _think_ straight, and I’ll be at the front of the line if I have to just to see their smug faces be surprised for once.”

Tucker tried to process the talk around Wash, tried to quell the nervous excitement still to be found in his chest at the single blessing that was -- no matter what -- Washington being alive at the end of this endless tunnel, but something was off.

Well, _more_ off.

And Hope was oddly silent for an AI who had just gotten what they wanted.

When Doctor Grey grabbed his shoulder, Tucker nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to face her face. It was weary with worry that hadn’t been there during her jubilant exposition at the war room’s broken table.

“Tucker, I want you to promise me you’ll live through this,” she said softly.

He tilted his head at her request before forcing a broad smile. “Aw, come on, Doctor Grey. You don’t need to tell me that! I’m going to make sure everyone gets out of this alive. I mean, I’m changing the universe, after all.”

“World,” she corrected again before squeezing his shoulder. “And, yes, that’s good. I’m going to work hard to keep everyone alive, too, Tucker… but this. This personal request -- this _begging_ \-- is more than that,” she continued quietly. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but the excitement, the _joy_ you and, well, the aptly named Hope just brought to that room was breathtaking. We’re all getting carried away because you have truly _changed_ something here today. And that’s why I didn’t want to worry anyone with the… the, well, _other_ possibility of your chronal signatures.”

Tucker squinted at her. “This sounds like _bad_ news, Doctor Grey. You’re supposed to give bad news _first.”_

“There’s a possibility that, well, that pressure I spoke of? The one that should work to eventually push you _back_ to where you belong and thus change this ludicrously lost world of ours?” she pressed.

“Uh, yeah?” Tucker raised a brow.

“It might simply try… to erase that you were misplaced, if you’re not around to continue pushing back,” she explained worriedly. “Tucker, if you don’t _live_ to travel back in time, then our current circumstances aren’t some byproduct of a timeline gone wrong… they’re the product of you having been at our present and lost to us. You dying could end any hope of changing the past.”

Tucker stared at her before looking off. “Oh, geeze. Yeah. No pressure or anything.”

“It’s not any more pressure than normal, sweetie,” she said with another shoulder squeeze. “It’s the same as always for us. Just try not to die! And to take everyone else with you!”

He stared at her before there was a long whistle from the door. Tucker glanced to see Donut waving for him.

“I am _not_ facing Wash alone to tell him you lived, Tucker, my dude!” Donut said, helmet on. “So let’s get moving.”

Tucker sighed and lowered his head. “Why do I feel like _not dying_ is going to be even harder than usual?”


	6. Chapter 6

No one talked much about Wash directly, and Tucker wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

Not that they were particularly straightforward about anything, leaving news like Sarge and Grif and Doc to be emotional gut punches without reprieve once Tucker had the gall to _ask_ outright, but something about Wash was even more off than everything else in their whacky future world. Living, breathing, apparently still kicking ass and taking names Agent Washington was alive. And yet the chill that went through the room in regards to him was palpable.

“Are we sure he’ll be in this area?” Carolina asked as they guardedly stepped off the broken pavement and began venturing closer to the outskirts of a somewhat still living forest.

Tucker watched as Donut shared a silent exchange with Sharkface who turned and scoffed.

“Doubting intel from _moi_ , Boss? I’m hurt,” Donut finally said, though his voice was less than joking.

“Besides,” Sharkface added darkly. “It’s Charon territory. Where _else_ would you hope to find our favorite obsessive?”

“Enough,” Carolina grunted. She came to a halt and turned to face them. “You two stay back and keep an eye on Tucker for a moment. I’m going to set the signal amplifier. If Wash is in the area, he’ll come to it.”

“Seem confident about that,” Sharkface said smugly.

“Only because I am,” she replied crisply as she pulled the device from her back utility pocket and began to walk toward a small clearing.

“Hold up, Carolina!” Tucker called out. “What’s all that about keeping an eye on me? I’m the badass savior of this shitty world, remember?”

Her head turned just enough to get a good glare in before she went back to work, angrily muttering.

Feeling a bit good for himself after getting such a visceral response, Tucker laughed and turned to look Donut’s way. The supposed Intelligence Officer seemed rather satisfied with the old ploy for banter, too. But he was still tense -- honestly _way_ too tense to feel like Donut.

“Hey,” Tucker whispered, coming over to his old friend’s side. “What’s the deal with Wash? You guys keep talking about him like he’s some kind of unpredictable Punisher-kinda guy raging in the wilderness.”

“Do we?” Donut asked, tilting his head. “Huh. Yeah, well, I guess it might be because he’s kind of an unpredictable Punisher-kinda guy raging around in the wilderness. It helps the image when it’s true.”

Tucker frowned. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Maybe,” Donut returned quietly.

“Say,” Tucker continued, crossing his arms. “Earlier you made it sound like you had more of a rapport with Wash. Why aren’t you contacting him instead of Carolina?”

“Wash and I exchange information and equipment more,” Donut shrugged. “I wouldn’t consider it anything special. But… yeah. I guess for the last few years he’s only been willing to let Donut inside. He doesn’t trust other men to handle him like me.”

Tucker took most of the information in carefully, but found himself glaring dully toward the end. “Really?”

Donut looked back at him. “What? Something I said?”

“Okay, fine. All that true, why is Carolina out there getting a hold of our favorite yellow-striped grump machine and not you or me?” he demanded.

“Well, think about it, Tucker,” Donut shrugged. “They’ve been friends longer than they’ve known any of _us._ And yet _I’m_ the only one Wash works with the last few years? Maybe she’d like to be the one to give him the first good news we’ve had… _ever.”_

Thinking it over, Tucker hated to admit to himself just how much sense Donut was making. Especially when it was outside of the realm of innuendos.

“I… _guess,”_ he admitted with a sigh, rubbing at his neck. “I guess I just… I don’t know, I guess I just can’t imagine what Wash has been doing out here all this time if he’s not got a bunch of us he’s ordering around and making do stupid squats. It’s… _weird.”_

Despite Tucker leaving off rather open ended, Donut just went back to watching Carolina’s back. There was no smart comment about Wash living out in the wilderness doing who knew what for all those years.

Sharkface let out a grunt and crossed his arms. “He’s looking for _Cruelty,”_ he explained in a curt tone. “Which is exactly who we should be keeping our eyes peeled for while we’re in this territory. Bastard can’t be reasoned with, and he definitely would like to get a hand on the general and Donut here.”

“I’m more worried about what would happen if Charon had any idea that Tucker was with us,” Donut muttered with some degree of reservation. “Which Cruelty would report on in a heartbeat if he saw us. Resentment, too.”

Tucker scratched at his head. “What? _Who?”_

Without warning, a flutter of light appeared over Tucker’s shoulder and Hope came to life. There was something almost comical about how such a tiny, bright AI could make the badasses, Donut and Sharkface, nearly leap out of their armors.

“Those naming patterns seem an awful lot like all the AI we know right now!” Hope pointed out excitedly. “Of course, we only know two, but it’s definitely now a pattern!”

“Oh, hey,” Tucker nodded. “You’re right, little dude.” He then looked suspiciously back to Donut. “ _Are_ they AI?”

Donut stared back for a moment quietly then nodded. “Yeah. They are.”

“So there’s a whole bunch of AIs, all with this weird emotional naming scheme, and they’re fragments,” Tucker reiterated, eyes narrowing. “Gee. _That_ sure sounds familiar.”

The fact that Donut did not so much as look at him spoke volumes.

“Just why is Wash making it his _super special mission_ to hunt these guys down by the way?” Tucker continued to press, getting closer to Donut’s space and taking some mild satisfaction in the fact that Donut at least had the decency to look uncomfortable about it. “Like, Wash is a hardass, but I’ve never known him to do reckless and stupid shit _without_ a proper motive.”

When it looked like Donut had finished his part for story time, Tucker turned his attention to Sharkface, a little hopeful. The other scout seemed more reserved on the topic than before, however. He crossed his arms and staunchly refused to look Tucker’s way.

It was enough to make Tucker want to let out a frustrated yell.

“Caboose,” Donut finally said, his voice low and coarse, like it was painful. “Wash is determined to stop those two after what happened to Caboose.”

There was a thunderous thumping in Tucker’s chest at the reminder that this world -- this _time,_ as Doctor Grey had explained -- had had a horrible, terrible happening with Caboose. And the idea that it was what had caused Washington to go off the rails…

Well, it was at least a lot more understandable to Tucker. His own grip on his rifle and the clench of his teeth tightened at the thought of these rampant AI killing his oldest teammate. He wouldn’t have minded getting in on some of that AI hunting action with Wash, truth be told.

Righteous vengeance, however, took another back seat when a single loud _BANG_ rang through the air.

All of the soldier tensed and looked worriedly to where Carolina had been in the clearing.

She stood confidently, but the device they had been transmitting their signal from was smoking and sparking beside her, a knife sticking out of it. The general seemed unconcerned, watching the far side as a dark armored figure, scuffed and worse for wear from head to toe, came out slowly.

“Wash,” Carolina said simply.

Tucker blinked a few times, taking in the approaching figure with some regard. He knew he should have expected changes, especially if Donut’s armor state was a sign of consistent field work, but somehow he had not foreseen Wash allowing his dress to get to the state it was. That being nearly against any and all regulation Tucker could think of.

“Why are you out here?” Wash snapped. “Where’s Donut? Shouldn’t you be back in a base, safely leading people into extinction?”

“There’s no need to be hostile,” she snapped back. “And Donut’s here. I just thought it’d be a good idea to be here to deliver the good news directly.”

“Right,” Wash said lowly. His head jerked toward Tucker and the rest. “That why you need three body guards? Because of _good_ news? I’m not interested.”

Growing confused, Tucker realized that Wash knew where they were, but had somehow managed to not connect the dots seeing a soldier in Tucker’s unique shade of aquamarine-turquoise-whatever armor? Or the fact that he had a fucking _sword?_

Grumpy asshole Wash didn’t seem to care as much about his survival as the others had hinted, or as Tucker had hoped.

“Dude, fuck off. I’m _way_ more than a bodyguard. Are you kidding?” Tucker scoffed, stepping forward in an attempt to brush off his bruised ego. “I mean, you talk to Doctor Grey and she makes it sound like I’m about to save the whole goddamn universe.”

“She told me it was just this world,” Sharkface pointed out.

Wash’s head snapped over to their direction and Tucker paused mid step. His confusion only grew, though, as Wash’s focus didn’t seem to be on just him but in the direction of all three of them.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Wash ground out.

Somewhat put off by the whole thing, Tucker shook his head. “Do I have to spell it out or something?”

The former Freelancer continued to stare at Tucker somewhat frustratingly but he gave no reply. Instead, they were both overtaken by comrades -- Carolina grabbing onto Wash’s shoulder only to have it jerked away, and Donut catching Tucker by the wrist to yank him back into space.

“We’re trying to do this _gently,”_ Donut advised in little more than a whisper. “Just trust us, okay? This is… _delicate.”_

“What this is is another gigantic waste of my time,” Washington corrected before turning to leave. “If you wanted information, all I can give you is that Cruelty is _close_ and you all are giant walking targets. I don’t know _what_ made you stupidly brazen enough to come after me but you need to get over it.”

“No, Wash,” Carolina corrected, walking in step behind him. “It’s not a waste of your time. We _need_ you. We’re launching a final assault, giving it _everything._ And we need every available pair of hands.”

“I’m not interested in another suicide mission,” Wash snapped over his shoulder. “Unless you have something to change the odds, I’m not interested in any final stand bullshit that Simmons has talked you all into.”

“We _do_ have something that’ll change everything, Wash! We have the one thing that makes all the difference!” Donut pleaded.

Turning on his heel, Wash leered in Donut’s direction. “And what is _that_ , exactly?”

Having had just about enough of Wash’s pisspoor attitude, Tucker broke free of Donut and got in his former C.O.’s face. “Open your fucking eyes, dude. _Me._ I’m the difference.”

In the corner of his eye, Tucker caught the full body flinch that Donut did and the shake of both Sharkface and Carolina’s heads.

Washington simply went stiff before getting more in Tucker’s face. “ _Open my eyes?_ Just who the hell are you supposed to be? Don’t you know anything?”

Beginning to feel even more uneasy, Tucker shook his head and tried to back away from Wash. “Seriously, Wash! It’s _me!_ You _know_ who I am!” Thinking fast, he reached up for his helmet and began to peel it off, just as he had done for Donut before. “See! It’s me! It’s Tucker!”

Almost immediately, Washington went stiff, his shoulders curling up, but he otherwise didn’t seem to react.

Donut sighed and smacked his forehead exaggeratedly.

After an awkward beat, Tucker rocked back on his heels and looked worriedly between Carolina and Donut. “Okay, I was expecting at least _some_ reaction from all of this. The way you guys made it sound, he was supposed to really have missed me or something.”

Once the words have left his mouth, Tucker found his space completely invaded by Wash. His attempt to jerk back was thwarted as the former Freelancer’s hands closed in on his face and began rather forcefully feeling over his features.

The feeling of the rough thumb pads against Tucker’s cheeks felt weird, and he wanted to move away from whatever weird ritual Wash was apparently performing, but that time Donut’s hand was holding his shoulders in place gently.

“Let him do this,” Donut muttered.

Wash didn’t make a noise the entire time he worked his fingers over Tucker’s face, pausing at the oddest intervals -- the curve of his chin, the bridge of his nose, the scar at his cheek.

It was weird and alien, but the longer Wash went the more tender the touches became, the more _searching_ they were rather than erratic and harsh. Slowly they were slight brushes on Tucker’s skin, almost soothing, like they were getting somewhere.

Then, slowly, Wash’s fingers found purchase by the curve of Tucker’s jaw and he stopped, catching a breath that Tucker hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“Tucker?” he asked, voice sounding unsure and confused in ways it hadn’t once conveyed since his arrival.

“Well, _yeah,”_ Tucker responded.

“It can’t be,” Wash said, a little more firm though not by much. “But… I know your face.”

“Yeah, and it’s kinda weirding me out,” Tucker admitted.

For a moment, Wash didn’t seem to really understand Tucker’s remark, but then he lowered his head, tension raising in his shoulders again. “This could be a very, _very_ elaborate trick,” he said lowly. “You may have just compromised me somehow or--”

“We’ve ran a thousand tests,” Carolina informed him. “Everyone from Fox to Simmons to Doctor Grey has confirmed it’s him.”

If possible, Wash’s head hung lower. His hands dropped from Tucker’s face to his shoulders. A small tremor went through him, so faint Tucker might not have even noticed it if he had been held down in Wash’s grip.

“ _How?_ ” Wash demanded, sounding hoarse. “How is this possible? Tucker, where have you _been?”_

“I… I don’t know,” Tucker responded lowly. “I woke up here… and everyone was telling me I disappeared for ten years. It wasn’t ten years for me, though. It was just… It just wasn’t.” He listened to his own voice trail off. Tucker focused on the damage and scuffed armor, the general _weirdness_ of everything Wash had been doing and saying. “What happened to you, Wash?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wash said resolutely. “I just… I just wish I could see you.”

Tucker looked over Wash carefully, eyes widening slightly as he processed what was being said. Then, suddenly, one of Wash’s hands moved down, grabbing Tucker’s helmet and forced it back on Tucker’s head.

“Ow! Wash--”

“We’re in a _war zone_ , Tucker! What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, suddenly sounding almost rejuvenated. “Don’t take your helmet off, for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay, okay! Jesus,” Tucker retorted, tugging the helmet on right and doing the clasps. He paused as he realized Wash’s other hand was intent on holding his shoulder like Wash was afraid of letting go.

Still, Wash’s second wave didn’t seem to let up. As he kept his grip on Tucker, he turned enough to let Carolina know he was talking to her. “What exactly kind of final assault did you have in mind? And how fast can we talk about it on the way to a bunker?”

“Simmons has the full plans and is gathering equipment and resources right now,” Carolina informed him before gripping her gun. “Wait. Why do we need to do this fast?”

“Because they’re here,” Wash answered lowly.

In the distance a hail of gunfire began to sound and Tucker felt his stomach lurch.

“Dammit, Wash!” Carolina growled, ducking for the cover a nearby downed tree just as Tucker felt himself pulled by Wash behind the same cover. “You couldn’t give us more warning?”

“You distracted me by dropping my dead teammate into a war zone!” he snapped angrily just as Donut and Sharkface got behind cover as well, sending out their own hail of bullets for cover fire.

Tucker reached for his gun only to be shoved further down toward the ground. “Ow! Wash--”

“Stay down,” Wash barked, beginning to go through the pouches along his waistline.

Angrily, Tucker pushed himself up further. “They need help covering--”

“Stay down, Captain Tucker,” Carolina ordered as she began to fire back as well. “Besides, my scouts don’t require cover fire from Charon’s basic troops.”

While Wash continued to dig through his pockets, Tucker dared enough to raise his head and check the general’s claim. He couldn’t help but find himself surprised by the truth to her claim as an entire line of Charon soldiers were wasted at Sharkface and Donut’s precise counter.

However, the tide turned rather quickly when Sharkface pulled back, grabbing for his shoulder from a precise shot that was outside of the range of the Charon soldiers. Tucker traced the trajectory and found himself staring at a familiar visage.

“Lopez?” he asked, half gasping.

“What!?” Carolina growled before also looking in the right direction. “Resentment!”

Donut’s words from before came rushing back to Tucker’s head -- Lopez was reprogrammed, it was a different AI in that body, _that body had killed Sarge and broadcasted it for everyone to see._

A deep seated anger, a flickering flame that had started the moment he landed in these unfortunate grounds and seemed to grow with each and every second that Hope disappeared into the confides of his AI slot, began to heat up Tucker’s body.

He was only shaken from the burning desire to launch an attack on this so-called Resentment when Wash went stiff beside him.

“If Resentment’s here… _Cruelty_ is here,” he seethed.

Tucker felt his blood run cold at the venom in Wash’s voice. Charon’s AI programs were somehow at fault for whatever fate had befell Caboose, why _else_ would Wash have dedicated so much of his energy, so many of his years, wandering blind in a pursuit to end all of them.

Rather than take the hint and get down further behind cover, Tucker looked around the landscape, searching for whatever culprit stood out.

“Think about Tucker, Wash,” Carolina ordered. “We’ve got more to gain now by leaving. We can get Cruelty along with everyone else with this final push. _Put it to rest for now--”_

The fire increased and Tucker looked just in time to see the hauntingly light blue figure in the distance. It definitely did stand out like a sore thumb on the battlefield compared to the mass of black and gray armors, but for Tucker it was more than that. There was a certain chill he felt at seeing that shade of blue again.

“Boss! He’s here!” Donut shouted.

“Damn it! Get us an opening _now_ , you two!” she yelled back.

“Resentment _and_ Cruelty,” Wash snarled. His body froze up as he shifted toward Tucker, as if remembering all over again that Tucker was even present. He then grabbed a device from his belt which Carolina seemed particularly shocked to see.

“Is that and EMP!?” she demanded. “You’ve gotten a hold of that tech and never told us?”

“It’s too weak to be permanent, but it’ll lock up the AI’s robotic bodies long enough to get us out of here cleanly,” Wash informed them as he cranked up a dial on the cylindrical device. “And for the record I get a hold of a _lot_ of stuff I don’t tell you about because I don’t report to anyone who needs to know about it.”

“Aw, that hurts, Wash,” Donut said over the radio.

Without any further debate, Wash tossed the EMP into the midst of the battle, the arch being more spectacular than Tucker could have managed, even being able to see where he was throwing. The two robotic bodies looked toward the device just before it released an intense flash of light, both freezing up and halting the fire of the concerned Charon troops around them.

“Okay, move! Hurry! Before these assholes remember they’re holding guns!” Carolina ordered.

Tucker began to move to his feet until he noticed Wash was still squared with the AI, his hands lingering toward the row of knives at his belt.

When he looked back, when he saw that frozen cobalt form, Tucker remembered that these AI were part of the family that had killed Caboose. That what teammate he had left had spent the last several years hunting after these AI for that crime. And that anger boiled all over again.

Before he even fully realized what his limbs were doing, Tucker took aim with his rifle and shot right for Cruelty’s helmet, watching a flying of sparks as the otherwise limb locked robot’s head jerked back, helmet toppling.

It left Tucker with a rather haunting partial visage of the killer’s face.

Dropping his aim, Tucker breathed. “Church?”

Without another word escaping his mouth, Tucker was grabbed on each side by Wash and Carolina. They half drug, half led him toward the escape clearance Donut and Sharkface had made through the lines just as the Charon soldiers, like Carolina had predicted, remembered to keep shooting upon them.

But even in the chaos and panic, Tucker managed to keep looking back at the AI, his heart pounding. “That was Church! How the fuck was that Church!?”

“If he’s Tucker from ten years ago, Carolina, what _else_ haven’t you told him?” Wash snapped as they continued their escape. “That one seems rather important.”

“It was irrelevant,” she said back.

Tucker whipped his head toward her, feeling that anger finally boil over. “Carolina, what the _fuck!?_ Why did that _thing_ that works for Charon look like Church under its helmet!?”

Carolina remained quiet before shaking her head. “The AI we’ve been fighting, the ones we’ve been recovering… they’re fragments from the same AI that Charon has been splintering over the years, mirroring the experiments done at Project Freelancer.”

He knew what she was trying to say, but he kept his gaze on her. Tucker wanted to not believe it until he was forced to hear it _exactly._

“They were once Epsilon,” Carolina said with a dim finality to her voice. “But they’re _not_ him anymore. Not any of them.”

Hope remained uncharacteristically silent throughout their successful escape.


	7. Chapter 7

Wash was the one to tell him.

It felt almost like the old days, Tucker thought as they sat in one of the small war rooms the bunker had open for meetings. After their escape, everyone else had gone their separate ways, except for Wash who seemed to follow Tucker like a shadow. It was when Tucker asked him exactly what had happened to the rest of their teammates that Wash had told him to find them a spare room to talk.

It didn’t pass Tucker’s notice that Wash didn’t remove his helmet before telling the story.

Wash told him about Locus, how he had been one of the first A.I implants, how he’d thrown himself off a cliff to his death shortly after implantation. He told him about how that fragment had controlled that suit of armor like a puppet, killing Caboose without a second of remorse. He told of Cruelty, put in a body to resemble Church to give Carolina nightmares, of Resentment forced into Lopez until he held a gun to Sarge’s head and pulled the trigger.

He told him about Doc.

“They brainwashed him,” Wash said, his voice quiet in the small room. Almost like they were at a funeral. “He showed up around the fourth year after you disappeared, sounding just like Omega. We’re still not sure if it’s just him, an implanted Fragment, or something else-”

“Something else?”

“Charon has gotten clever over the years. He could have been implanted with a dummy A.I. Donut has been trying to prove it but I don’t think he’s found anything.” Wash paused. “I’ve been seeing him a lot lately. So has Donut. It’s concerning.”

Tucker thought on that for a moment. How Donut had reacted when asked, how he might have become so good at risking his life for intel. Saving Doc from whatever had wormed into his brain would be a good reason to try to grab classified files. But Donut’s tone-

“Donut doesn’t think he can save him, does he?”

Wash was silent for a long moment before replying.

“No. He doesn’t.”

Tucker didn’t want to think about what Donut would have to do if he actually found Doc one of these days.

“And Church. They split him the same as-”

“Yes.”

Tucker let that sink in. He didn’t know much about the Fragmentation process in Freelancer, no one told him everything, but he knew that they’d tortured Church until he split. Which means they had to keep doing it now.

“You think he’s still alive? If they’ve been splitting him?”

“Could be. Donut thinks so: they’re unlikely to throw out an A.I no matter how damaged, unless useless to the cause.” Tucker thought of Hope, the small little A.I with a timid voice. “But he’s likely damaged worse than Alpha ever was. Epsilon was only a Fragment. To be split more...well they’re probably using everything they have to keep him from shattering into just data scraps. There’s likely not enough left of him to stay together on his own.”

Tucker thought he might vomit. Hope was noticeably quiet throughout the conversation. Tucker didn’t blame him. If he had a chance to hide from this truth, he would too.

“This is so fucked,” Tucker said, running his hand through his hair. How had shit gotten this way, just with him gone? Sure he was the Chosen One, but that didn’t exactly give him sudden world saving fighting abilities. How did they collapse just without him? And if he got back, would his presence really stop it from happening again?

“Yes, yes it will,” Wash said, and Tucker realized he’d muttered a bit of what he was thinking out loud. His voice was forceful, like the old Wash forceful. “Tucker, you don’t understand. When you left, morale crumbled. We were grieving, looking for a body, for something. When Felix started taunting us with your death-” Wash cut off taking a deep breath. “Things fell apart.”

Tucker tried for a lighter tone. “Looks like you guys really missed me.”

Wash was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was entirely serious. And perhaps more emotional than Tucker had heard it in an age. “Yes. We did.” A pause. “I did.”

And what the fuck was Tucker supposed to say to that. He sat there for a moment, trying to find words, and when none came, he looked at Wash. What did he look like now, Tucker wondered?

“You can take off your helmet you know,” Tucker said. Wash sat up straighter, surprised.

“What?”

“You can take off your helmet. We’re pretty safe here. At least, at the moment.” Wash was silent. “Come’on, show me that ugly mug. I gotta see how that shitty dye job of yours held up over a decade.”

Wash didn’t move and Tucker thought about what he learned earlier, about Wash’s sight. How he might of lost it. “You’re not going to freak me out man. At least, not any more than I already am.” No response. “Please?”

Wash was silent for another moment. Then he reached up for his helmet. Un-did the clasps. And pulled it off.

The eyes he noticed first. They stared straight forward, and given the way they shone under the light, it was clear they were fake. His hair had gotten grey like everyone else, blond mixed with white, and the dye job for his undercut was long gone, hair cut short with what looked like a knife. There were a few new scars on his face, two tellingly near his eyes. The dark circles that used to linger under his eyes were worse than ever.

He looked different, Tucker thought. But he looked like Wash. And that was what mattered.

“Wow,” Tucker said, letting out a low whistle. “I think you need a new hairdresser man, cus the one you had last did not work to be flattering.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Wash’s mouth. “He’s a little blind, I’ll give you that.”

“A blind joke? Really?”

“I can make them. That’s the rules.”

“There are rules?”

“Donut and I had a meeting about them and everything. We’ll get you up to speed sometime.”

Tucker stared at Wash for a long moment as the corner of Wash’s mouth twitched. Soon both men broke out laughing.

“Oh God, that was terrible,” Tucker wheezed when he got control of himself again. Wash had stopped laughing, but there was still a small smile on his face. It was better than doom and gloom by a longshot.

“I suppose it was.” Wash’s helmet beeped and Wash picked it up. Hiss smile vanished, replaced with a snarl. “That’s Carolina. Wants to go over the plan, I think.”

“What is the plan?”

“Not sure.” He lifted up his helmet and put it back on. “I’ll find you later.” He walked over to the door, and paused. “Be careful. Please.”

And with that he was gone.

Tucker sighed. He’d gotten so many answers and still he had so many questions. He got up and headed out the room himself, exploring the fortress. Hope flickered to life on his shoulder every once in awhile, making commentary, but when other soldiers walked by, he quickly vanished.

It was ten minutes into his exploring that Tucker heard Simmons yelling like he was a drill sergeant.

“Absolutely not!”

Tucker paused. Taking care not to make too much noise he peered around the latest corner to take in the scene. Simmons was standing in the middle of what looked to be a training room, helmet off, hands on his hips. He looked furious. In front of him stood Lieutenant Fox, her full suit of armor still on.

“You need all the men you have on this mission. I am one of the men. So I’m coming.”

Simmons’s glare got only worse. “No, you are not.”

“That isn’t your decision.”

“And thankfully it isn’t your either-”

“Lieutenant-” Simmons cut off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took in a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes, he looked almost tired. Like old Simmons. “If you go on this mission, you will likely die, do you understand that? It is unlikely we will win without severe casualties. If you go out there, no matter what front you’re on, you will probably die. Does that mean anything to you?”

Lieutenant Fox’s stance didn’t waver. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Simmons looked like he’d been slapped. He took a step back. Reached out a bit. “Oh course it does. I can’t-” His hands fell to his sides. “Please. Stay here. Be safe. You can provide as much support in these walls than outside them.” Tucker took another step forward. “I promised him I’d protect you. Give me that.”

Lieutenant Fox’s stance wavered. Her shoulders drooped. But she didn’t step back.

“I’m sorry General. But I can’t. I just...can’t.”

Simmons didn’t look angry anymore, just exhausted.

“He’d hate me. For letting you down.”

Tucker walked into the room fully now, noticeable if either looked his way. Neither looked his way.

“Nah,” Lieutenant Fox said. “He could never hate you. He was too big of a sap.”

There was a long moment of silence. And Tucker, being Tucker, decided to open his big mouth.

“Am I interrupting a moment here?” He said, waving his hands. Simmons almost fell over when he spun to turn at him. Fox looked to almost jump. “I feel like I’m interrupting a moment here.”

“Tucker!” The anger was back in Simmons face again, and God, it was scary. How did Simmons get scary? “Do you have any sense of privacy-” He cut off. “Wait. No you don’t.” He turned back to Fox. His face was all clinical now. “Think on what I said. I have to attend the meeting.” When he walked out of the room, past Tucker, Tucker had the urge to jump out of the way.

“Goodbye General,” Fox said, her voice a little sad. She walked over to one of the chairs in the room and slumped in it. When she pulled off her helmet, Tucker could see she’d been crying. “Jesus.”

“What’s the deal with you two?” Tucker said, stepping over. “He’s like way too old for you.  Like in a  creepy way. And just saying, he’s also a terrible choice in-”

“Oh my God, please stop.” Fox looked thoroughly disgusted, holding up a hand. She took a moment to respond. “No, that’s-oh God, I can’t believe you thought-” Her nose crinkled. “I think I have to vomit.”

“Girls still think Simmons is gross. The world has some constants.” Tucker threw up his hands in the air. Fox still looked like she was going to be sick, staring at Tucker like he’d suggested she was involved with Sarge or something. He looked at Hope, who’d appeared on his shoulder. “What else is still true here? Can you still buy a hot dog for less than three bucks if you know the right guy? What about taxes?”

Hope shrugged, then pointed to Fox. Tucker turned. She didn’t looked grossed out anymore, just staring at her helmet in her lap. It looked a size too big for her. Tucker was once reminded of how young she was. How young everyone was.

“So you’re going on the mission,” he said. Fox nodded. “You sure?”

Fox glared at him and Tucker held up his hands. “That wasn’t judgey man. I’m not your Dad.” Fox snorted. “Just making sure you know what you’re running into.”

Fox shrugged, placing her helmet on the floor. “Yeah, I do.”

“You might die.”

“If I don’t fight, I’ll die anyway.”

“If they win you won’t.”

Fox looked at Tucker. She looked exhausted. “How can you know that? What’s left if we win? There are almost no supplies left. Almost the entire population has been wiped out. We’re barely surviving now on what we have: if we win, that doesn’t change. It means people just stop shooting at us.” She closed her eyes. “We’d have to rebuild everything. Clean out any stragglers. Start crops, build from the ground up. Only to maybe starve at the end of it all.” She opened her eyes and looked back down at her helmet. “What kind of winning is that? When there’s nothing left to win?”

Tucker looked at her for a long moment. Thought of Hope on his shoulder. How the chip had no battlefield assistance. And pulled it out.

Fox startled as Tucker placed the chip in her hand.

“What?”

“You need it more than I do,” he said. Hope lit up on her palm and waved at the Lieutenant.

“But the fight-”

“He isn’t built for it. Probably serve better for rebuilding and stuff. Or just morale.” Fox looked up at him, her mouth wide open. “Just, keep him safe, alright. He’s a friend.

He left the room with both human and A.I staring at him.


	8. Chapter 8

“Tucker,” Donut was waiting for him when he approached the war room. “Good, you’re just in time.”

“In time?” Tucker asked, confused.

“Wash, Carolina and Simmons managed to come up with a plan,” Donut says.

“What is it?” Tucker asked. The weight of it all was ridiculous; but then again, things had always felt way too big and out of his control, had even back in Blood Gulch, when their problems had mostly been Caboose.

Tucker felt a wave of nausea as he thought about Caboose. He wondered if maybe, there was a grave or something. Maybe there was one for Grif too. He should ask. Maybe pay his respects. Or something. Fuck, Tucker was no good at any of this.

Seeing Donut older was still bizarre and wrong, but Tucker was getting more used to it, and he hated that. He didn’t _want_ to get used to it. Being used to it meant it was real. Meant all of this was real, and there was no going back.

“Wash has been keeping parts back,” Donut told him, glancing over his shoulder at the door. “He’s managed to get enough bits and pieces to make a few wonderful toys. I’m going to lead a team back to his stash, so Doctor Grey can start putting some things together.”

“What are we building?” Tucker asked.

“The only thing that can end Charon’s advantage in this war,” Carolina had emerged. She looked exhausted and old. Resolve flickered above her shoulder, arms crossed. “An EMP.”

“What, you mean an emp?” Tucker and Donut asked at the same time.

Behind Carolina, Wash let out a snort. Simmons sighed.

“You’re going to destroy the AI?”  Tucker asked.

“Not just the AI,” Simmons said, crossing his arms. “If we detonate the EMP in the heart of the their headquarters, it will have a ripple effect. We should be able to take out most of their ships, a good chunk of their troops...”

“And hopefully, most of their weapons,” Carolina said with a satisfied air. “We can even the fight significantly. Increase our odds.”

“Where’s this headquarters then?” Tucker asked. “Not Armonia?”

“They had some secondary offices and labs there,” Carolina said, glancing over her shoulder, where Sharkface stood, still looking incredibly satisfied, “But their main command center is the _Staff of Charon_. A ship. _Hargrove’s_ ship, actually.”

“So why haven’t you guys attacked it before then?” Tucker demanded. “If that’s such a weak point?”

“They hide the identity of the ship well. It looks identical to all other ships in the Charon fleet,” Carolina said.

Tucker raised his eyebrows. “Carolina, no offense, but there’s like, a hundred ships around Armonia alone. How the fuck are we supposed to narrow it down?”

“True,” Donut said with a smile, but his smile wasn’t normal. It was hard, and brittle, with an edge to it that unnerved Tucker. “But luckily I happen to know where it’s going to be when it’s time to start our attack!”

“That was what Donut was doing out in the field when he found you,” Simmons said. It was weird, listening to his voice. He sounded in control. Professional. He didn’t trip over his words or stutter or go off on tangents. He sounded like a general should sound, and it was uncanny. “Investigating a potential data leak. And it paid off. Big time.”

“Double oh Donut, _always_ gets his man, Simmons!” Donut said.

“We have a location, we have a weapon, and we have _you_ ,” Carolina’s eyes gleamed with a manic fire that made her seem more alive than Tucker had seen her since arriving in this strange future. “We can do this.”

“We better,” Resolve said. Tucker tried not to stare, trying to see Church in the other AI. He thought he could see it. Church was a stubborn asshole, and what was resolve if not a petty refusal to change your mind?

“I’m going to rally the troops,” Carolina said. “They’re making a run on the Communications Tower to cover for us.”

“I’ll go with you,” Simmons said with a sigh.

“Wash, go talk to Grey,” Carolina said, her tone brooking no argument. “Sharkface, go to the armory. We’re going to need the big guns for this.”

Sharkface’s grin was wide. “Fighting fire with fire, boss?”

“You know it,” Carolina said, giving him a small grin before walking away.

“Tucker,” Donut said, tilting his head as the others headed out. “Walk with me?”

Tucker shrugged. It wasn’t like he hadn’t anything better to do, after all. “Sure, I guess.”

They walked through the maze of corridors side by side. It reminded Tucker, in a way, of the desert, and the temple. The two of them had spent days camped out there together, swapping life stories and telling shitty jokes, while CT and his asshole friends had battered away at the doors.

He wondered how long it had taken the Resistance, to build this place.

The base was empty--he guessed everyone was off listening to Carolina’s grand “you’re probably all about to die” speech. He hoped she’d gotten better at convincing people over the years, because otherwise they were probably fucked.

Although “let’s screw over the guys who have been murdering us for years” was probably a very strong motivator.

“If  you do go back to the past,” Donut finally said, pausing in an empty doorway that led into a bunk that was had clearly once been occupied, but now was covered in dust and cobwebs. Tucker remembered how there had always been a shortage of rooms in Armonia and swallowed. He hadn’t asked after troops statistics. But it didn’t take a genius to realize that they’d been decimated pretty badly over the course of ten years. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Sure,” Tucker said, surprised. “Anything to prevent this fucking mess.”

“Find Doc,” Donut said, and his face twisted with grief. “ _Please_. Before they do.”

Tucker blinked, confused. “Find him? Dude, wasn’t he in Armonia? I mean, when I last saw you, you  were talking about your anniversary plans, and--”

“I was,” Donut said, and fuck, Tucker’s never seen Donut like this. Guilt and grief and pain, all of them old but still sharp. His hands shook, even as he wrung them together.  “I _did_. I thought he was there, I _thought_ I’d seen him, but--but Tucker. _We lost Doc before we were separated_.”

“What do you mean?” Tucker demanded. “He was with you guys with the Feds...” He trailed off, seeing the look in Donut’s eyes. “Seriously?”

“We _forgot him_ ,” Donut’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t even notice until we lost Armonia, and then when he showed up again... he hated me. For leaving him.”

Tucker took a step forward, placing a comforting hand on Donut’s shoulder. “Dude, he’s brainwashed. _Charon_ brainwashed him. It’s not...”

“It _is_ ,” Donut said, hands clenched into fists. “It’s... it’s not normal, what they did to him. Sometimes, it’s almost like he’s himself again, but even then he’s furious at me. For letting them do that to him. And when he’s O’Malley...” Donut closed his eye, but Tucker thought he caught a glimpse of tears.

“You couldn’t have known,” Tucker pointed out.

Donut’s chin jutted out and his good eye flew open. “I’m _intelligence_ , Tucker,” he snapped, tapping his eyepatch, probably symbolic of something that Tucker didn’t understand. “It’s my _job_ to know.”

Tucker forced himself to stop. He knew a losing argument when he saw one, especially when it came to guilt and blaming yourself. He’d lived with Wash long enough to learn the signs. “Alright,” he said instead. “So I find Doc. What else? What else do I need to change?”

“Church,” Donut said immediately, and thank _god_ , the miserable look evaporated, replaced with the professional expression that was also unnerving, but anything was better than Donut looking sad. It had been true in the canyon, it was true now. “You can’t let them take Church, Tucker. Them getting the AI destroyed any advantage we might have. We could have recovered after losing Armonia; we could have handled that. But losing Church gave them a weapon we couldn’t combat, and it was a major morale blow.” He paused, thoughtful. “And you need to destroy the Temple of the Purge. Before Felix finds the sword. He’s always so _obnoxious_ about that thing, and he’s very good at using it.”

“The Temple of the _what_?” That sounded bad in so many ways, Tucker couldn’t keep track. Jeeze, this planet was a fucking hell-hole.

He wondered what the fuck this planet had, that Hargrove thought it was worth _this_.

“The Purge. It could wipe out every lifeform on Chorus,” Donut said. “Just one big bang, and then it’s all over. We destroyed it before they could use it, but... it was costly.” Donut tapped the wall, thoughtfully. “Those are the big ones, I think. Change those, you can change anything.” He paused again. “Also, you should kill Felix. That would help.”

“I don’t think I need encouragement for that one,” Tucker said, thinking of Grif, and the way Simmons had been acting. Felix had killed Grif. And Felix was going to pay for that. In this world, _and_ back home, if Tucker had anything to say about it. Donut smiled that knife slash grin again.

“Good,” he said emphatically, and then he left Tucker alone in the corridor with a long list of thoughts.  

* * *

Apparently, it didn’t take very long for Doctor Grey to whip up an EMP, not when she had the parts she needed.

“Agent Washington, to think you’ve been sitting on these,” she shook her head at him.

Wash didn’t look remotely abashed. “I had my own needs,” he said, crossing his arms. He was wearing his helmet again.

“Alright,” Carolina said. “I’ve given the camouflage units to the Scout Team. We’ll have sightings of all of us at the fight, throwing off any suspicions that it’s a diversion.”

Tucker blinked. “Wait, your camouflage unit? You gave it away?.”

“Units,” Grey said cheerfully. “Plural.”

“Charon’s been mass producing them,” Carolina said with a nod. “We’ve been able to scavenge some.” She glanced at Simmons. “I’ll go get the shuttle ready. Everyone meet there in five.”

“Well,” Grey said, looking at Tucker. “Do be careful, Captain! Remember what I said about surviving!”

“Wait,” Tucker said, blinking. “You’re not coming with us?”

“Oh no, sweetie. I have several pounds of explosives to look after! I’m with the distraction team,” she said, giving him a smile. Tucker thought it might even be real.

“I--I’ll try,” Tucker said.

Grey smiled at him, and pecked him on the cheek. Tucker froze. “When this is over,” she said. “We’ll get you back there. Good luck.”

Tucker shook his head, trying to restart his brain. This was all too much emotion for him. Honestly. The future fucking was weepy as shit. “Right,” he said to the room at large, even though it was just him and Wash. “Well, I guess we better get to the ship...”

“Tucker,” Wash held him back, grabbing his wrist. How Wash even knew where his wrist was, Tucker had no idea. Maybe it was a good guess. “I... I just...” He let go, and pulled off his helmet.

Tucker turned around, looking at him. Out of all of his friends, Wash’s scars were by far the worst. The one that slashed through his left eye in particular looked nasty and deep. Tucker had a nasty suspicion that whatever had caused that scar had nearly killed Wash.

“I was an idiot,” Wash said, abruptly.

“What?” Tucker’s brow furrowed.

“Back in Armonia. I wanted to tell you something. I didn’t. I was an idiot.” Wash took a deep breath. “I spent ten years thinking you’d died. That I’d never get to tell you. Thinking about it. Thinking about what I’d say, if I got a chance to do it over.”

“Wash,” Tucker said. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

Wash reached out, and cupped Tucker’s face. “Yes,” he said quietly. “You are.”

And then he leaned in and kissed Tucker.

Tucker’s whole body seemed to seize up, locking him in place, unable to so much as breathe, let alone kiss back. Wash rocked back quickly, expression contrite.

“I--I shouldn’t have--” Wash started to say, but Tucker’s brain and body were working now, and he surged forward, kissing Wash with everything he had.

Kissing Wash had been an idle thought for ages, but Tucker had never thought it would actually ever get further than shower fantasies or passing daydreams. It wasn’t like he thought it would be--they stumbled backwards under the force of Tucker’s movement, falling until Wash’s back hit the wall, and then Wash grabbed a hold of Tucker, pulling him closer so that their armor clanked as they collided. If Tucker was living a fantasy, Wash was kissing desperately, sloppily, as if he was terrified that it would all fade away the minute he stopped.

“Shouldn’t have waited?” Tucker demanded when they finally parted. “Hell yeah you shouldn’t have.”

Wash leaned his head back against the wall. “You’re ridiculous,” he finally said, but there was a smile. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

“And you like me anyways,” Tucker said, smirking.

“Sure,” Wash said, his expression odd. “Like.”

* * *

Carolina piloted the shuttle.

They were all deathly quiet, the heaviness of what they were about to do looming over all of them. Tucker missed Hope. He hoped Fox was making good use of him on the field.

Donut was sitting with Carolina in the front, co-pilot. Tucker hadn’t noticed it before, but the two of them worked well together, capable of the silent, easy communication that Tucker normally associated with Carolina and Wash.

Simmons was looking at blueprints of the Staff of Charon with Sharkface and Wash, leaving Tucker to his own thoughts. Which was unfortunate, since Tucker’s thoughts really weren’t all that pleasant right now.

“Approaching shuttle, please give authorization codes before preparing to dock,” a mechanical voice said. Tucker flinched.

“Is that _Sheila_?”

“Yes,” Simmons said quietly. “She’s the AI who runs that ship.”

“Charlie Whiskey Hotel Seventy Five,” Donut said, but it wasn’t Donut. He had one of those voice modifying things that Tex had been so fond of, making his voice deeper, and giving him a bit of an accent that Tucker couldn’t place.

“Welcome back,” Sheila’s voice said pleasantly, and then faded.

Donut sighed in quiet relief. “Those codes cost us five soldiers,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Carolina reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be over soon,” she said.

No one was in the docking bay when they arrived.

“They’re operating on a skeleton crew right now,” Sharkface said, tilting his head as he looked around the otherwise silent area. “Night shift. Most of them will be in their bunks, which is on the opposite side of the ship from the labs. So even if we trip alarms, we’ll have a little bit before they can have the whole ship up and ready for us.”

“What’s the average response time?” Wash asked, while Tucker tried not to stare at the casual reminder that Sharkface had once _worked_ for the people they were fighting.

“Not sure,” Sharkface said. “We never drilled that one.”

“Sloppy,” Carolina said. “What we need to do is isolate the AI threats. They won’t be powered down.”

“We don’t even know which ones are on the ship,” Simmons pointed out.

“I can get the manifest,” Donut suggested, tapping the chin of his helmet thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t be too difficult now that I’m here, especially not if you can keep FILSS off my rear while I check her out.”

“Let’s do it,” Carolina said. “Sharkface, you and I are going to secure Hargrove. Simmons, Donut, go find the manifest and locate the AI. Wash, Tucker, go to the command center. We’ve got one shot at this.” She nodded at the EMP in Wash’s hands. “Make it count.”

The labs were between the sleeping quarters and the labs, where command was located. “Is Hargrove seriously here?” Tucker asked Wash quietly. “Seems to be too close to the combat for his taste.”

“Hargrove’s here most of the time, from what we can tell,” Wash said, spitting Hargrove’s name with an impressive amount of venom. “Unless his duties as Chariman call him away. There’s a lot at stake here. He’s gambled _everything_.”

“Well,” Tucker said. “Better make sure he loses then, right?”

“Right,” Wash said, although there was a bitterness to it that Tucker couldn’t understand. But then again, there was nothing knew there. Tucker hadn’t seen what they’d seen, didn’t know what they’d know, despite all his questions. He’d missed ten years of hell.

“Here,” Wash said, pausing outside a door. He punched in the authorization code, and they both waited with baited breath as the light flicked from red to green.

The only person there was a scientist, who didn’t even turn around as the door opened.

Wash pounced, knife out before Tucker could so much as blink, slitting the throat of the man, who wasn’t even wearing armor without a single moment’s hesitation.

Tucker flinched, but he forced himself to not say anything, instead choosing to look around.

Every inch of the room was filled with alien artifacts. Most of them were weapons, but there were pieces of stone, large chunks of alien writing, and a few other odds and ends.

Tucker found his gaze drawn to one thing in particular.

A very familiar sight.

“Holy shit,” Tucker whispered, staring.

The pillar was the same as he remembered; glowing faintly, the blue stone seemed to flicker in the pale light of the lab. But it was different too; Tucker could hear a faint buzzing that only seemed to get louder as he stepped towards it, mesmerized by it.

“Tucker!” Wash grabbed him and yanked him back. “Stay away from that thing!”

“It’s what sent me here!” Tucker protested.

“And who knows where it will send you next?” Wash said. “We have to focus! We need to _end this_.”

Tucker glanced at it. “How did they get it here?” He wondered.

“Tucker,” Wash snapped. “Focus.”

“Tucker?”

The voice was familiar. It was probably the most familiar voice in the entire universe, actually.

“Church?” A quick search around the room seemed to give him the answer he wanted--a strange, glowing computer screen.

He pulled away from Wash and moved towards it. “Church, is that you?”

“Tucker--” Wash tried to say, but Tucker ignored him.

The screen flickered, the color changing from white to blue to black before settling black on blue. “You can’t be Tucker. He’s dead.”

“Nah dude, takes more than that to keep me down,” Tucker said. “I time travelled. Felix lied.”

“ _Felix_!” The voice changed, growing deeper and louder. The screen changed to black, and the lights in the room seemed to dim.

Then the screen changed again, this time forming into a picture.

A familiar orange and grey helmet appeared, leaning close to the camera.

 _“I gutted him,”_ the Felix on the screen said. “ _Pulled out his organs, one at a time, until he bled out. You know what was funny?”_

Tucker reeled back. “What the _fuck_?”

The image changed again. This time, Felix’s helmet was off, and Tucker stared. The entire side of his face was covered in a massive acid burn, nasty and raw looking. Whenever the video had been taken, it was recent.

“ _I strangled him,_ ” Felix was smirking, and fuck, it was creepy. “ _He was your friend, wasn’t he? I strangled him. Not that he had too much fight left in him. He kept thinking you guys were going to rescue him, but I think he eventually got the message.”_

“That didn’t happen,” Wash said, fiercely. “He _lied_ , Epsilon.”

“Epsilon...” The screen went dark, and then a small sprite appeared. “I know that name.”

“Church!” Tucker leaned down to get a better look.

The hologram looked small--smaller than Hope, even. And he kept flickering, barely able to sustain the form. He stared up at Tucker.

“I know that name,” he repeated.

“It’s _your name_ ,” Tucker said. “How do you know my name but not yours?”

“Tucker,” Wash said, quiet. “They’ve had him for _years_.”

“They _broke me_ ,” Church said. “They wanted everything I had, and I gave it to them. They took everything. There’s nothing left now.”

“You remember me,” Tucker pointed out. “That’s something.”

Church flickered out for a moment before reappearing. “I... I guess,” he said. “You... we were on a cliff. We were watching someone.”

“The Reds,” Tucker said. “And you wouldn’t share the sniper rifle.”

The hologram seemed to glow brighter. “Right! And you... you kept asking me what they were saying!”

“That’s right!”

“You’re _Tucker_!” For a second, he looked normal. “I remember! You... you vanished, and everything went bad and Carolina--” He flickered out for a second.

“Church!”

The screen turned on, glowing a bright pale blue. “She was sad and mad and _everything was bad_ , and then they _took me_.” There was a pause, and then the sprite appeared again. “Is she alive? Felix said he killed her but if... if he lied about you...”

“She’s alive,” Tucker said. “She’s making them pay for what they did.”

“Epsilon,” Wash said. “Can you help us? We’re going to crash this ship. If they do that, we might be able to stop this.”

Church paused. “I... I don’t know.” He flickered again. “I... I don’t think I can. I’m tired. I’m... I’m so tired.”

Tucker turned to Wash. “Wash, what were the other fragments?”

Wash tilted his head. “Why?”

“Dude, just _tell me_.”

“Resentment,” Wash said, slowly. “Despair. Cruelty. Ego. Resolve. Apathy. Fear. Affection. Regret. And now Hope.”

“Good,” Tucker said.

“ _Good_?” Church and Wash chorused.

“You said they took everything,” Tucker said. “But hey, they clearly didn’t! Because you remember me, and you remember being _you_. Which means you’re still the same petty asshole you always were.”

“ _Tucker_!” Wash said.

“C’mon,” Tucker goaded. “Don’t you want to see them pay? Don’t you want to imagine Felix’s fucking face when all the ships fall out of the sky? All those scientists, all the soldiers... they’re all going to pay. Don’t you want to help?”

“I...” The hologram changed again, and for the first time in years, Tucker saw Church’s old face again, before the armor solidified around him, and he grew back to his old size. “ _Yes._ ”

The computer began to glow a bright and blinding white before exploding in a shower of sparks. Church’s hologram flickered out.

“Church!” Tucker yelled.

“It’s fine,” the voice came from above. “I had the energy for this one jump. Let’s _do this_.”

“You’ve integrated into the ship?” Wash said. “Epsilon, that could kill you!”

“It will,” Church said. “But _I don’t care_. Give them hell, Tucker.” He paused. “And thanks.”

And with that, there was a loud, terrible crashing noise, and then the ship began to fall out of the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Carolina and Epsilon got separated can be read [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6279280)
> 
> Curious about Felix's scars? Let's just say Simmons didn't handle the events of [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6574033)very well.


	9. Chapter 9

If there was ever a time to get thrown back to the past, Tucker thought, now would be fantastic.

The ship lurched and Tucker fell over with the shift of it, faceplanting into the floor. Wash went with him, and when Tucker struggled to his feet, he found himself unable to stand up straight. He knew this feeling, he thought as his feet rose from the floor, like he was hovering in mid air. From what seemed like years ago when their ship crash landed on Chorus for the first time.

“Church, you fuck!” Tucker yelled at the computer screen, as the various memorabilia in the room fell to the floor. “I said we were going to crash the ship. Not crash it with us in it, you piece of shit!”

He almost went on a tirade about using a timer like the had rigged on the EMP, but Wash bumping into him as they fell shut him out of his rant. Tucker looked at the glowing pillar in the middle of the room. Piece of shit. Throwing him into this hellhole in the first place.

Wait-

“Tucker,” Tucker snapped out of his train of thought as Wash grabbed his arm. Tucker could only guess at his expression under the helmet. “Tucker, back at the base. I lied.”

Tucker looked at him for a moment. “Seriously, dude. A last confession moment? Are we in a-”

“Shut up.” Wash’s voice was firm. “Listen. What I said. I don’t just like you Tucker.”

“Don’t just like me? What is this middle school? Are we going to-” Tucker cut off, the bravado fading, the truth plain. Love. Wash loved him. Wash loved him back when he was ten years younger and held onto it to this day. And now, they were going to die, because Church didn’t understand the purpose of timers.

They were going to die and Tucker would never get to go back to his own time, never be able to fix this. He’d never be able to see his friends again, all alive. He’d never get to go find Junior, to talk to his son. He’d never get to tell Wash that yes he would like to make out on a regular basis, and it was all because of a stupid alien-

The thought from earlier came back. The pillar. The pillar had started everything, back when he touched it. If he did it again-

“Good talk,” Tucker said, and felt particularly glad he couldn’t see Wash’s expression when he pulled away, pushing himself towards the pillar. Wash called out something as he got closer, and Tucker reached out. The buzzing in his ears got stronger. The light began to glow more. He stretched out his fingertips, almost touching the stone.

The ship lurched, the rockets coming back online, then faltered again. Tucker went plunging towards the ground, his fingers barely missing touching the stone. And everything went dark.

* * *

 

When Tucker woke up everything hurt. And not in a fun way.

The first thing he could sense was being shaken, the pain from what would have to be a plethora of bruises aching.  Next was smell, smoke in the air, faint but there. Sound came next, someone’s voice in  his ear, a voice he recognized, spoken over a buzzing in his ears and sirens going off in the distance.

“Tucker. Tucker. _Tucker._ ”

Tucker opened his eyes. Looking down at him was Wash, his visor broken on one side so Tucker could see his face. The blank staring eye there.

He turned to his side. Took in the wreckage of the room, the broken memorabilia, the shattered monitors, Tex’s helmet lying on the floor. Reaching out, he picked up a piece of stone, small, with runes on the side. It was hard to recognize without the blue glow but after a second it clicked.

The pillar. It was gone. Destroyed in the crash with everything else.

He’d failed.

“Fuck,” Tucker said and his voice was scratchy. Wash sat back when he heard it, clearly relieved.

“Oh thank God,” Wash said. He reached for Tucker’s hands and pulled him to his feet. Tucker swayed a bit in place, but managed to keep upright. Nothing was broken. How was nothing broken. “The ship. It managed to recover its thrusters at the last minute long enough to slow our fall.”

“So we’re not dead.” Which was good, if it wasn’t for the pillar thing. He looked up. The sirens on the walls were flashing, pulsing a red light. After a moment of the sirens ringing, Tucker could hear gunshots.

“Not yet. But we will be if we don’t get moving,” Wash grabbed Tucker’s arm and pulled him towards the door. Tucker stalled, looking at pillar. He thought- “Tucker, we have to go. Carolina commed me, she has a plan-”

Tucker took one last glance at the broken pillar. Tried to ignore the buzzing in his ears that had only increased in intensity.

Next time Wash tugged on his arm, Tucker turned around and ran with him.

The hallways were deserted, the doors closed. As they ran past them, Tucker could hear screaming, and pounding on the doors. Light flashed from underneath, shrieks of pain echoing.

“Epsilon locked them in their rooms,” Wash said, not stopping as they sprinted. “And turned on the automated defenses. If most of the crew isn’t dead, they’ll be soon.”

As they ran past another doorway, blood leaking through the crack, Tucker began to understand how terrifying his A.I friend could be.

“So, what’s the plan,” Tucker yelled as they turned another corner. There was another round of gunfire, and he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. “The ship is down.”

“And we still have the EMP!” Wash held it up in his hands, the light on the end of it still blinking. “Which means, we can use it to take out something else-”

“Like what-”

They turned another corner and stopped. In front of them was Sharkface, full armor on, using what looked to be a flamethrower down the hallway. There was a knife in his arm, buried deep, and a blood ran down his armor. His helmet was gone, melted in the corner, and when he looked over at them, the grimace that crossed his face was terrifying.

“We got company.”

He didn’t speak any more as a figure charged forward. It was in brown armor, old and dented, and from what Tucker could see, the entire plating was melted on the right arm. It took him a moment to recognize it and when he did, he sucked in a breath. Even though he knew it wasn’t him, even though he’d seen him before, the name long dead came to his lips anyway.

“Lopez?”

The figure turned towards him and charged, hands extended. He didn’t get far, Sharkface grabbing him by the ankle and swinging him around down the hallway. He landed with a large crash, but in a second he was up again. In the distance, Tucker could see a ball of light flicker over his shoulder.

“No. Resentment.” Wash grabbed his arm again. ‘Sharkface, we gotta move.”

“And miss this throwdown?” Even with blood leaking down his shoulder, the man sounded full of energy.

“ _Now_.”

“You are no fun,” Sharkface said, but he took off. Wash and Tucker followed, sprinting down the hall. Halfway down, another figure joined them, also sprinting.

“Hey guys,” Donut said, waving. He was in better shape than the rest, but he sounded like he’d been crying. “So, uh, I found an old friend-”

“You fool!” Tucker looked over his shoulder, and he saw a figure in a suit of armor chasing him. Purple armor. His stomach sank. “You think you can escape me. I will hunt you to the end-”

“Must he speak like that?” Sharkface said, sounding rather bored. “It takes away from any-”

“Terry.” Donut’s voice was colder than Tucker had ever heard it. “Go fuck yourself. With your flamethrower.”

No one spoke after that. When they made it down three more halls, Tucker finally spoke up.

“So uh, we running laps here for fun, or…”

“We’re waiting on someone. Can’t get everyone in the right place if-” There was the sound of someone screaming, voice robotic and Wash cut off. When he spoke next it was with a mild amount of glee. “There he is.”

They ran towards the noise, turning the corner. On the floor was what looked to be a robotic hand, still twitching still, and when Tucker looked up he realized why. In his hand Simmons had a sword, not a laser sword like his, but an honest to god sword. It was coated with oil and across the hall, gripping the end of a stump, it was easy to see why. The A.I painted like Locus seemed to have lost his duel.

“You swordfight now!” Tucker yelled, and both AI and Simmons stopped looking at each other to glance at him. “What the fuck man! That’s my thing!”

Donut promptly dragged his hand across his face and sighed. When he was done, he reached forward, grabbing Simmons, and they were off again.

“Donut!” Simmons voice was a squawk. “I was winning-”

“You can gloat about your swordfighting skills on your own time, mister! We’ve got a plan to implement.”

They kept running, the hallway getting wider as they went. Heading to the engine room, Tucker realized. Ahead he could see the hallways opening up to a room, and as the passed through the doorway, Tucker could see Carolina grappling with the figure that looked like Church.

“Wash, the plan!” She screamed.

“Boss!” Wash held the EMP out to Donut. With aim as good as ever, Donut threw it to Carolina, the EMP soaring through the air as the rest of them, A.I included, entered the room. Carolina jumped up and caught it, getting distance from the A.I in front of her, and after a second, Tucker realized the plan.

They were baiting the A.I. Tricking them all into one place. So they could take them out all at once. It was genius. They could win this entire fight with a signal button.

“It’s a trap!” Doc yelled as Carolina lifted up her hand to press the button. They’d won. They’d won. They’d won-

The shot that rang out, throwing the EMP across the room was the worst sound Tucker had ever heard.

“Oh Tucker,” A voice that made Tucker’s skin crawl said. He looked up to one of the platforms above the room, and took in the figure standing there, in beaten up, but recognizable orange armor. A laser sword was in his hand, glowing. “Didn’t anyone tell you that you were supposed to be dead?”

Back before he joined the army, Tucker thought he knew what loathing felt like. He thought he had the emotion down, that he knew exactly what it was like to hate someone with every fiber of his being. And then he crash landed on Chrous.

For as long as he lived, Tucker decided, he would never hate anyone as much as he hated Felix.

“Didn’t anyone tell you to go fuck yourself!” Tucker called up, hoping that the sheer force of his hatred might strike the man dead. The A.I and Doc had surrounded them now, the EMP out of reach. “I see you got a fancy new laser sword. How about you shove it up your own ass?”

“Clever.” In one moment, Felix jumped down from the rafters, landing on the floor. The fact that he stuck the landing had to say something about the quality of his armor. Tucker could see an A.I flicker over his shoulder. “I wonder, would you be so clever if I decided to carve out your tongue the same way I carved out your friend’s eyes?”

Tucker’s stomach sank. He did everything in his power not to look at Wash.

“You did me a favor,” Wash said, dryly. “Now I don’t have to see that ugly face of yours. Though I heard Simmons helped improve it considerably a few years back.” Felix grew very still. “You mind describing it to me? I wanna get the whole picture.”

This time Tucker could help but look at Simmons. He remembered the image of Felix’s face in Church’s monitor, scarred and burned. “You did that?”

Tucker couldn’t see Simmons’ face, but he was sure the man was smirking.

“Shut. Up.” Felix’s tone was entirely serious now. He circled the group behind the group of A.I. He tilted his head to the side. “Tell me, General, do you ever have nightmares about that day? I hated how it happened, myself. I wanted to pull his guts out first, make it slow. You had to just complicate things.”

“Must we do this posturing,” Carolina said, but Felix kept lapping them. Given the way Carolina’s hands were curling into fists, they wouldn’t be taking more of this for long.

“It’s too bad he died,” Felix continued speaking to Simmons, shrugging. “He seemed decent, for an idiot Sim Trooper. Once he was gone, it was so much harder to think of fun ways to ruin you. After all, dead husband, kind of takes the cake.”

Tucker’s brain stopped. His mouth fell open. Without thinking, he turned to Simmons again.

“Wait, you got married! To Grif!”

The room paused for a moment. Even the A.I looked confused, their helmets tilted slightly. Wash let out a long sigh.

“Did no one tell him?”

“I thought Simmons would.”

“Why would I tell him, I thought Donut would have cleared that up-”

“Wait so does he not know about Fox-”

“ _Enough_!” Felix’s scream was entirely shrill. “Must you always ruin my day!?”

A moment of silence before Donut spoke. “Well-”

“ _Shut. Up_.” Felix dragged his hand down his face. “I will kill you all,” he said, his voice low, menacing. “Every last one of you. I will gut you right on this floor. I will make you-” He spoke directly to Wash. “Watch as I slit this idiot’s-” He pointed to Tucker. “Throat.”

“Actually,” Donut chimed in. “Wash can’t watch. He’s blind. But he’s able to listen if you want to narrate with sound effects-”

 _“I said shut up_. And then I will walk out of this ship, with your blood still on my boots, and slaughter your army one by one. Starting with that red colored Lieutenant you like to call a spy-”

Everyone moved at once. Simmons drew his sword, swiping it forward, charging towards Felix. Felix drew back to avoid getting stabbed. Carolina leapt over the A.I., heading for the EMP. Donut and Sharkface drew their weapons as the A.I drew theirs. And Wash threw a knife right through Doc’s shoulder as he barreled past him, dragging Tucker with him. Pushed Tucker’s towards the exit. And spoke one word.

“Run.”

And then he jumped back towards the fray, knives out, swinging.

Tucker stared for a moment, half tempted to follow the order. The buzzing in his ears only grew louder, and as he looked at Doc’s body on the ground, now horribly getting to his feet, fleeing this mess was more and more appealing. This wasn’t his time. This wasn’t his world. How was he supposed to stay here and watch everything fall apart-

_Tucker, you don’t understand. When you left, morale crumbled. We were grieving, looking for a body, for something. When Felix started taunting us with your death....things fell apart.”_

Tucker remembered those words. How his absence had turned the tide in Charon’s favor once.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

He drew his sword, ducked past Resentment who was fighting Sharkface with only his fists. He swiped at the A.I as he went, hoping to take him down a leg at least, and while he missed, the distraction was enough to let Sharkface get a hit in. He ducked past Donut, who was throwing knives with Doc, and as he moved past Carolina, distracted by Cruelty, he spoke.

“You deal with them. I’ll grab the EMP.”

Carolina’s nod as he ran towards the corner of the room with the EMP was almost like a salute.

He almost made it to the EMP when another shot broke out sending it across the room. Tucker followed it, trying to grab it before Felix could send out another shot, and before he could, a grappling gun reached out and secured it. Doc, triumphant, held it in the air.

“You fools I-” He didn’t finish. Sharkface punching it out of his hands before he could do anything. The former merc grinned at the man and clicked something on his armor. Before Tucker could react, he threw Doc towards and empty hallway, and chased after him.

“Sorry guys, but I’m gonna hail Mary this. Lost too much blood to keep upright. Light ‘em up!” He called.

“Terry!” Carolina called, sounding broken. Tucker didn’t realize why until there was a scream, Doc’s from the hallway. Doc’s actual voice, not Omega’s layered over.

“Is that an explosive-” And there was a column of flame that shot out from the hallway with a terrible scream.

“Shit, shit,” Carolina said, and Tucker forced himself to look away from the smoke that was rising from the hallway. He had to focus. A moment of distraction-

Another scream, this time cut off. Tucker turned to find Donut on the floor, Resentment standing over him. Donut’s head was at an odd angle. His chest didn’t move-

Tucker did what he could. He looked away. Focused on the EMP. And ran.

The fight was moving now, growing more frantic with the losses. Carolina was taking on the three A.I at once, moving at a breakneck speed to keep them away from Tucker whenever they tried to get close. Resolve flickered over her shoulder, growing fainter every time she used an enhancement.  They threw things whenever he got close to the EMP, and Tucker felt like he was chasing the thing across the room. Meanwhile, Wash had forced Felix back onto the boardwalk above, a knife fight for the ages happening. Even unable to see, he seemed to be holding his own. Wash threw a knife and Tucker watched as it buried itself in Felix’s leg. The merc let out a terrible scream, falling back into the shadows.

Shit!” Tucker glanced at Carolina and saw, to his horror that Resolve had flickered out, entirely gone. She was becoming overcome now, three A.I at once too much for her and she screamed at him as they tackled her, Cruelty’s hands around her throat. “Tucker now!”

It took everything Tucker had to dive for the EMP instead of going to try to save her. In his hands, he prepared to press the button, when he noticed the A.I heading towards him now, no longer distracted by Carolina.

“Tucker!” Wash’s voice. “Tucker, now!”

Tucker didn’t think. He pressed down on the button with his fist, almost cracking the screen in the process. The device let out an ungodly wail. The A.I running towards him collapsed, like puppets with their strings cut.

“Holy shit,” Tucker said, letting go of the steaming EMP. They did it. They actually did it. “Wash we-” He looked up.

To see Felix’s sword, glowing that cruel orange color, buried in Wash’s back.

“Oh Tucker,” Felix said. The A.I was missing from his shoulder now. “Did you really forget about little old me?”


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn’t _fair._

The thought was stupid, petulant, and unhelpful, but as Tucker stood by, as he felt his grip tighten on the hilt of his own sword, as victory and the end of war seemed at long last feasible, he looked at Wash’s body and at Felix’s cocksure stance and he knew -- he just _knew_ that it wasn’t fair.

“This isn’t over,” Felix mocked. “It’s far from it.”

“It _was_ over, you stupid bastard!” Tucker roared, stepping toward the madman. “We won, don’t you get that!? Don’t you get that there is nothing left for you to do? We won, and it was _over!”_

Felix laughed, a dark, rumbling noise that was as unsettling as it was scathing. “What, you think because _Charon_ ’s not around anymore that I don’t still have my mission to complete? That I still don’t have a very simple job, a very _simple_ set of orders that I will stop at nothing to finish because _I_ don’t leave a job undone?”

Tucker felt his breathing become uneven. His heart was racing. “Orders?”

Shaking his head, Felix began circling and tsking Tucker. “You haven’t been paying very much attention, Tucker. My orders have always been the same since the very first day I was sent to this godforsaken, _pitiful_ planet. I am ordered to kill every, last, _fucking_ person on this dirtball. And I have _every_ intention of doing it even if the only thing helping me is my own two hands. Not that it’ll be that hard anymore.” He paused his prowl long enough to kick Wash’s limp body for emphasis. “Your guys’ hairbrain scheme didn’t leave that many leftovers.”

“Step _away_ from him!” Tucker roared, flaring up his own sword. “And while you’re at it, how about you _shut the fuck up,_ Felix. Because _you’re_ the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

Scoffing, Felix’s head leaned back with what was no doubt an eyeroll given the merc’s usual flare for theatrics. “Paying attention to _what_ exactly, asshole? Got another camera on me? Recording me for posterity? To send to the, what, _four_ people left standing after your ridiculous attack on us today? _Not_ much of a contingency plan the second time around.”

“No, Felix,” Tucker snarled, stepping toward him. “What you weren’t paying attention to was _me._ What you weren’t paying attention to was that the war, that the murder, it _was_ over. But you couldn’t play it smart to save your own fucking life, could you?” His eyes narrowed as he readied in a fighting stance. “You killed Wash, and now the war’s back on between _you_ and _me.”_

For a moment, Felix stood in silence. His head cocked to the side. “What are you…” he then exploded in laughter. “Oh, my _god._ Are you _for real?_ This is fucking hysterical!”

While the merc was busy mouthing off, Tucker rushed forward.

There was a moment where Felix seemed genuinely surprised. His shoulders dropped and he had to fall back onto his heels to keep his feet in place as he blocked Tucker’s sword with his own. But whatever momentary advantage there had been quickly dropped.

Tucker knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that Felix was not an easy opponent. He was possibly the _hardest_ opponent he could ever face. And even there, with him having delivered the first strike, Tucker was struggling to press against the mercenary’s sword.

But he didn’t care.

At the end of the day, there was no stronger truth than that it was Felix -- Felix and the rest of the Charon bastards -- who had taken from Tucker _everything_ he had cared about. _Everything_ he loved.

Even if Tucker hadn’t been there to suffer each loss, to mourn each death over the past ten years, he was there for it now. And he was there to make sure Felix _paid._

With that sort of pressure, Tucker _couldn’t_ lose.

Of course, Felix had something to say about that.

“You know you’re just _pathetic,”_ Felix hissed through gritted teeth just before breaking their interlocked blades apart in a carefully pulled off swing. “You know that, right? You’ve got _nothing_ on me. You never had.”

While Tucker’s grip had gotten stronger since the last time he confronted Felix and he managed to not lose control of his own weapon, Felix had succeeded in breaking his balance. Tucker stumbled backward several feet before being able to lock his boots to the floor again.

He knew he had to think one move ahead of the other, and he was more than prepared to get into another ready position, but he felt the heel of his boot brush against something and froze.

There was no need to look down, but Tucker did anyway. His eyes settled in wide anguish as he saw Wash’s limp form just behind him.

“Wash,” he uttered before hearing Felix leap at him.

Cursing at himself under his breath, Tucker dove under the strike, barely managing to get his own sword up in time for a well placed block.

The lock of the blades didn’t last nearly as long, Felix pulling out to take another heavy swing at Tucker from an adjusted angle. It was blocked, but more clumsily and Tucker fell to the floor before barely blocking again.

“Not to mention, you’ve taken off a few year from practice,” Felix continued to sneer, swinging down mercilessly with the blade again and again, weakening Tucker’s block with each strike.

“Yeah,” Tucker gritted out. “But that means you spent ten years getting older, slower, and _dumber!”_

While Felix reeled back for another strike, Tucker kicked out with his foot and met his mark: Felix’s codpiece.

In the few moments that spared him, Tucker scrambled to his feet and took off toward the door. He hesitated, only for a moment, to look at Wash’s body. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest, but the roars from Felix’s recovering frame shook him back into the present.

He couldn’t let the sacrifice -- _everyone’s_ sacrifices -- be for nothing that day. He simply _couldn’t._

Without another second to spare, Tucker took out toward the halls and ran at full speed with no particular direction left to him. He just needed _out._ He needed time and a plan and _something_ that could give him an advantage over Felix.

Hell, Tucker would’ve settled for _any_ of the above.

Doctor Grey’s theorizing was still drumming in his mind as he worked on his escape. There was a chance he would be going back, that time would send him careening into the past, his rightful place, and he could set everything right. Just so long as he survived long enough to see it.

But even with that weight on his shoulders, Tucker felt like he couldn’t leave that awful, ugly future until it was settled. Until he somehow finished what he had started there that day with his aged and hopeless friends by his side.

It couldn’t all be for _nothing._ Just like Simmons had said before.

“ _TUCKER!”_

It had been a few turns into his run down the battered, bloodied halls of the Charon ship but Tucker had been expecting Felix to catch up long before then. He slid on the jagged metal of the ship to turn around and meet Felix’s wild sword swing.

“I was _just_ going to kill you with the theatrics I’d been talking about over the years,” Felix informed him, breathing heavily into his radio with each move. Tucker had to block a swing from the right then the left then the left again. “But after your stunts today, after _how much_ you seem intent on just _pissing me off,_ I’ve decided: why pick between any of the stories I’ve made over the years? This doesn’t have to be multiple choice! I can kill you in _all_ of the ways. I can strip each piece of skin from your bones, I can tear out your tongue and claw your eyes. I don’t have to _choose_ what way you’ll suffer.”

His back hitting a wall as one of Felix’s more powerful feints sent him off his feet, Tucker had to think quick in order to recover and block again. He was getting a little sick of being on the defense, but even _more_ sick of having to listen to Felix’s chatter.

“Dude you’re fucking _sick,”_ Tucker snapped before pushing Felix’s sword out of their locked arms. “Not to mention _wrong._ I just _refuse_ to be stopped by the likes of you.”

Felix hit the opposite wall and laughed, shaking his head. “Aren’t you paying attention, Tucker? This isn’t like when we faced off any of the times before. You _don’t_ have your friends anymore. And now you’re going to have to ask yourself just _whose_ fault is that?”

Annoyed and breathless, Tucker threw up his arms. “What the hell kind of question _is_ that? It’s _your_ fault, you sick fuck!”

“Is it, Tucker?” Felix pressed. He let out a short yell before diving at Tucker again with another fierce swing. It was strong and wild enough to burn through Tucker’s chestplate.

Hit, but not bleeding out of sheer luck and armor protection, Tucker remembered to cut and run again. Past the death, past the carnage left in the wake of the ship’s destruction.

There _had_ to be something in all of the chaos that could press an advantage for him. He _knew_ that his fate wasn’t to have lost right on the cusp of winning.

That went completely against the simulation trooper track record.

“You’re not running from me, Tucker,” Felix’s voice cooed from down the halls behind Tucker.

“Damn straight I’m not!” Tucker yelled over his shoulder. “Just give me a minute!”

“What you’re _really_ running from, Tucker, is the _truth,”_ Felix continued darkly, his steps becoming faster and louder behind Tucker. “You’re running because you _know_ , you _know_ that at the end of the day all these years of death and horror and _fear_ aren’t caused just by my _impeccable_ skills as the goddamn best mercenary in existence. No, no. The true power all along, the _real_ factor that cost each and every one of your miserable friends their lives over the years is their mistake in _ever_ counting on _you.”_

Tucker did his level best to tune the mercenary out, but his pulse pounded in his ear with the beat of each statement. His guts were twisting with their undeniable truth.

So distractingly so that Tucker didn’t pay attention and felt his feet tangle up on _something_ before his brain could process it, sending him falling to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Ow! _Fuck!”_ Tucker cried out, watching as his sword’s hilt spun across the floor a few feet out of his reach, switching off outside of his touch. “No!”

Felix’s entrance to the scene was given through a fanfare of laughter. “Oh, how just absolutely _rich._ And to think for a minute I _almost_ considered being worried about you.”

Ignoring Felix as best he could, Tucker looked to what exactly had tripped him to begin with.

What was left of his resolve crumbled as he pushed away from the heap of maroon armor and blank staring on the floor. Tucker almost felt ready to lurch as he looked at Simmons, realizing that he had not seen what had happened to his old friend before, and now his memory was going to be of that hollow stare and the way his body still grasped for his--

Tucker’s eyes flickered with newfound will as he saw the opportunity laid out before him.

“I hope you’re ready for a truly _pathetic_ ending to your life, Tucker,” Felix gloated. “Because I’m here to give it to you and so, _so_ much worse.”

“Felix,” Tucker snarled, grabbing Simmons’ personally constructed rocket launcher and swinging it around to face the black-and-orange merc. “Shut the _fuck_ up.”

Seeing what Tucker had, the mercenary flinched back but had absolutely no time to respond as Tucker’s finger pulled the trigger.

In a truly impressive display, the rocket launcher fired its final shot right for Felix. It obliterated on his chestpiece and led the merc to scream out before being engulfed in a plume of smoke and fire.

Knowing better than to believe anything could be simple, Tucker crawled over his friend and threw himself after his own sword. He slid across the metal floors with it, hitting the wall shoulder first just in time to ignite the plasma weapon.

“ _TUCKER!”_ Felix roared, truly furious as he stepped through the fire and falling debris.

Tucker shook his head, watching as the mercenary unveiled himself. Half of his armor was off, metal twisted and charred. His helmet gone, but there was no defeating the determined look in his eyes. His half scarred face wasn’t even remotely concerned with the flames still licking at his skin or the wound at his chest.

He shouldn’t even have been standing.

“Get up and _fight_ me, Tucker,” Felix ordered. “Once and for all. Meet your fate. Meet it by _my_ hands.”

“Oh my god, you are ridiculous,” Tucker snapped back, pushing to his feet. “But yeah. Yeah, let’s fucking _do_ this. I’m done.”

And though he had meant to only play into Felix’s banter, the weariness of his own voice and the truth to his words really surprised Tucker.

They stepped forward. Tucker was still weighty and tired, the exhaustion of the ordeal catching up with him despite himself. He was counting the names of everyone who fell so far that day, counting faces for the names he didn’t know, and skipping over the friends -- the _loved ones_ \-- that took the much needed breath out of him with each reminder.

But he still paid attention. He could still see through Felix’s intimidating stagger.

He was limping. He was slow.

Felix was beaten, it was just a matter of Tucker not letting the bastard take him down, too.

And Tucker honestly looked forward to nothing more than disappointing Felix right then.

Charging first, Felix brought down his sword, slicing through the rocket launcher still in hand. Tucker spun at first with the momentum of the weapon but then brought what was left of the barrel down on Felix’s charred and exposed shoulder.

The mercenary snarled and roared like something savage and unkempt. Like a caged animal.

He jabbed fiercely forward, but Felix was already lacking that methodical confidence in his strikes and Tucker easily stepped back in a dodge from the hits.

On his pivot foot, Tucker ground his heel then punched back. While the firm stance left him exposed enough that the hot plasma blade of Felix’s sword sliced and burned its way through Tucker’s suit mesh in a graze, the sacrifice was worth it.

A new scar was going to be worth the story of how he managed to put his key blade through the mercenary’s chest.

Felix choked, unable to string words together for once in his life.

“You know, in _my_ stories, I’ll have to lie a bit, too,” Tucker sneered, leaning into Felix and driving his sword further. “See, it’s going to be easier to tell everyone I put this through your fucking heart. Which is a lie since we all know you don’t have one.”

The choked noises continued, Felix sagging into Tucker and the sword. But just as Tucker readied himself for wheezing rasps on his shoulder, Felix made another noise that raised the hairs on his neck.

Dying, the sick bastard _laughed._

Tucker felt his stomach churn and his every nerve sting with fear. Not that there was anything left from Felix -- the drip of blood and burning hiss of what ran over the hot blades was a mortal assurance of that -- but of a darker feeling nestling deep inside of him.

“Pot,” Felix whispered in Tucker’s ear. “Kettle.”

A tremble worked its way into Tucker’s jaw before he regained control of himself.

Snarling, Tucker pushed Felix off of him and pulled his sword cleanly out of the mercenary’s chest.

With no resistance, Felix hit the floor behind him. There was a long wheeze and then nothing.

Cold and empty, Tucker stood waiting. Waiting for _something_ to happen more. For another breath, for another _anything_ from Felix. But it was clear even from the distance, he was dead. Finished. Over.

So Tucker looked around the mess of the ship. He looked around for that _something_ else around him from anyone or anything.

He needed a sign of victory. He needed to feel they won.

“It can’t… It can’t be like this,” he said lowly. “It isn’t fair. We _won.”_

But the words never once rang true.

Perhaps unwisely, Tucker removed his helmet. He needed air, needed to _breathe_ with his own mouth and lungs. Needed to grasp at something that made the victory theirs once and for all. But as he did so, he just felt more restricted, more closeted in the hull of the ship.

He looked into the visor of his helmet and stared at a reflection that looked blood caked and mortified.

The feeling didn’t stop, like there was something restricting him all around, and while Tucker tried to think his way through it -- a panic attack? -- he realized that it was far more physical than that. His fingers curled around his helmet and he tightly closed his eyes as he curled around his helmet. He felt compressed -- like balling up was the only option left as the air around him grew thin.

Then he lurched forward without moving himself at all. It was as if he was being pulled from his navel and whisked through an airless space. He couldn’t even breathe.

Was this what Doctor Grey had meant before? Did it mean that he was going back? That he had a chance to see more than a pyrrhic victory?

What about Fox? What about _Hope?_ He hadn’t thought to check in on them yet and suddenly the world around him was fading fast.

  
_Tucker_ was fading fast. And everything around him became white noise.


	11. Chapter 11

The world spun back into focus with a painful lurch, and Tucker dropped his helmet, where it clattered to the ground loudly.

“Captain!” Someone caught his arm. He struggled to make out who it was, before the helmet came into focus. Jensen. Jensen was here. The others must have come to investigate the crash. “Captain, are you alright?”

“Jensen?” Tucker muttered, slumping. Everything hurt. His foot hit something, and he stared.

It was another fragment of the pillar.

“Captain! I think you have a concussion; let me--”

“We have to hurry!” Andersmith said-- _Andersmith_? Hadn’t Jensen said he was dead? “Felix might be back any second!”

“He’s dead,” Tucker tried to tell them. “I killed him.”

 _Pot. Kettle_. The words echoed in his brain, and he clenched his fists.

“Someone call Doctor Grey! We need the infirmary ready!”

There was the rattle of gunfire in the distance. “He’s back!” Palomo yelled. “We need to move _now_!”

“Wash,” Tucker muttered. “He killed Wash.”

_Oh Tucker. Did you really forget about little old me?_

“Captain Tucker?” Jensen’s helmet entered his field of vision. “It’s all going to fine, okay? You hit your head when the artifact exploded.”

“They’re all _dead_ , Jensen,” Tucker tried to tell her. “Where’s Hope? Where’s Fox?”

“Who is he talking about?” Palomo demanded.

“I think he’s deliriouth!” Jensen said, moving to support Tucker more.

Tucker stared at her arm. Her ring was missing. And it was in armor.

“Your hand...” He said, the world twisting out of focus again. “Jensen, your _hand_...”

“Must have hit his head pretty hard,” Bitters said, and Tucker tried to twist his head around to look at him, because Jensen had said he was gone and he didn’t understand.

“Move!” Andersmith shouted, and that was too much for Tucker to take.

He tumbled forward, and everything went black again.

* * *

Tucker woke up slowly.

“He’s going to be fine,” Carolina’s voice was saying. “Doctor Grey said he just hit his head when the artifact exploded. It’s a minor concussion.”

“What caused that artifact to explode in the first place?” Wash. That was Wash. Wash was _alive_. Tucker tried to open his eyes, but everything was moving at a snail’s pace, even his own body.

“Doctor Grey thinks that the presence of the alien sword caused some sort of energy surge,” Simmons was alive. It was all flooding back now. Doctor Grey had been right. He’d been sent _back_. He was _home_.

“Yeah but something’s still not right.” Some knot in Tucker’s chest that he hadn’t had time to even think about came loose. Church was alright. Of course he was. Since when could a little thing like death keep Church down? “The energy readings... and Tucker’s got a few weird bruises and shit that don’t make sense. Not to mention that weird dust particles Grey pulled out of his armor.”

Tucker finally managed to force his eyes open. “The future,” he croaked, and wow did he sound even gravelly-er than Wash had in the future.

“Tucker!” Suddenly everyone was all up in his space.

No one was wearing helmets, and he instantly checked everyone’s faces. Wash’s eyes were looking right at him, and were clear and bright and focused, the nasty scars gone and the grey hair lessened. Carolina looked younger, her hair bright red again. Donut had both eyes. Simmons’ cyborg parts were smooth and clean looking. And then...

There was Grif. There was Sarge. There was Caboose. There was Church’s avatar hovering above his bedside table.

“Fuck yeah,” Tucker muttered, grinning. “It worked.”

“What worked?” Wash demanded.

“Coming back. Thought it wouldn’t, with the thing broken,” Tucker said. “Thought I’d be stuck there.” He paused thoughtfully before managing to raise his hand and swiping it through Church.

“What the fuck was that?” Church demanded.

“For being a dramatic little shit and not giving us a warning before crashing the ship,” Tucker said.

“What ship? I didn’t crash shit!”

“Yet,” Tucker said, closing his eyes.

“Alright!” Doctor Grey said, and Tucker forced his eyes open to check if she looked the same. But her helmet was on, so Tucker couldn’t see anything. “Let’s check you over, then you can tell us all about your crazy adventures in the _future_.” The pure delight with which she said the word proved it. This was _his_ Doctor Grey.

“We need to find Doc,” he said, as soon as Doctor Grey gave him the all-clear. “We’ve got to find him _now_ , before Charon does.”

“Wait,” Donut said, sounding confused. “Isn’t he here? I thought I saw him--”

“No, you didn’t,” Tucker said. “Future you was pretty clear on that. Tapped his eyepatch when he said it and everything.”

Donut gasped. “I had an _eyepatch_?”

“Oh no,” Grif said. “That’s a fucking awful future then. No future where someone wears an eyepatch is a good future.”

“You’ve got that right,” Tucker said, exhausted to his core.

“What did you see?” Wash asked.  

The irony of that statement settled in over Tucker and he flinched.

“Uh, well,” he scrambled to remember the list that Donut had given him. “There’s... another sword, and we need to stop Felix from getting it and one of the Towers can kill every person on this planet and we need to break that, and then Church _really_ can’t get caught by the bad guys or bad shit happens. A lot.”

“Another sword?” Grif asked. “Wait, Felix had it? Oh man, was there a kickass sword fight? I bet there was a kickass sword fight.”

“Grif!” Sarge barked. “Now is not the time for rampant speculation that will inevitably end in disappointment!”

“Do you have any idea where it’s located?” Carolina asked.

“You guys didn’t know. They just showed up with it one day,” Tucker said with a shrug. His stomach churned as he tried to decide how much to tell them. It was hard, looking at Carolina, trying not to imagine how her body had crumpled to the floor as he’d held the EMP in his hands, or at Donut without hearing the echoes of the sound of a neck snapping in his mind.

Wash gave Tucker a look that could only be described as knowing. Tucker looked away, trying not to think about Felix.

“I think you need some rest, Captain Tucker!” Doctor Grey said cheerfully. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit and we’ll finish later.”

“I’ll debrief you!” Donut offered cheerfully. “We’ll fill in all your holes!” There was a long pause while they all waited expectantly. “In your story!”

“There we go,” Simmons said, a faint blush on his face.

Slowly, reluctantly, the others all began to file out of the room.

Caboose walked up to Tucker, looking down. “I-am-glad-you’re-not-dead,” Caboose said quickly, looking at the floor. “Because Church would be sad. Not because I would be. And I am glad you came home from the future, because the future is not where people belong, Tucker! The future is big and scary and has lots of loud noises, and people should not be there!”  

Tucker found himself grinning slightly. “I’m glad you’re not dead too, Caboose.” He thought about the machine that wore Locus’s armor and suppressed a shiver. “Really.”

“Good. Then I will leave now. Because I was not worried.” Caboose paused, and then hugged Tucker tightly before running out to join the rest of them.

Only Wash stayed behind.

Tucker couldn’t bring himself to be surprised.

“Tucker,” Wash said.

“Hang on, dude,” Tucker said. “Let me get dressed. I am _not_ having this conversation in a hospital gown.”

A small smile pricked at the edge of Wash’s mouth--that little sign that he was amused by Tucker’s bullshit.

Tucker had used to savor it before.

Now, there was even more reason to.

Tucker tugged on his undersuit, while Wash waited outside. “Has Doctor Grey even cleared you?” Wash demanded.

“I only have a concussion, I’ll be fine!” Tucker rolled his eyes. “Stop fussing.” He stepped out from behind the changing curtain, and grinned at Wash.

“Tucker,” Wash said. His face was tight with something--concentration, fear, worry. “Look, I--before you left, I was trying to say something, and I--”

“Wash,” Tucker interrupted, grinning. He took a step forward, and he grinned as he watched Wash’s face flush at the proximity. “I know.”

Maybe it was cheating, using his knowledge of the future, but Tucker honestly didn’t care as he grabbed the back of Wash’s neck and guided him down for a kiss.

It was different than it had been, back in the future. Then, Wash had been desperate and sloppy, hot and fast and furious, making up for lost time.

Now, Wash’s mouth was soft against his, even as his hands flailed around, unsure of what to do. It was painfully clear that this Wash hadn’t mentally played this moment out a thousand times a night over ten years. He hadn’t actually planned on getting this far. Tucker grinned against Wash’s mouth and snaked his other hand around Wash’s waist, pulling Wash right against him.

That seemed to do the trick; suddenly Wash’s hands were knotted in his hair and Wash pressed up right against him, leaning forward until the back of Tucker’s knee hit the edge of the hospital bed and the two of them went sprawling down onto it, knocked apart by the force of the fall.

Wash was blushing furiously, every freckle on his face standing out. “You _knew_?” He demanded, panting for air slightly. Tucker mentally gave himself points for that.

“Well,” Tucker said, reaching over and cupping Wash’s face with his hand, smirking slightly. “Future-you _might_ have given me a hint.”

Wash stared at him, baffled. “I’m surprised I was still alive,” he said, frankly, and Tucker flinched, pulling his hand away. “Tucker?”

All Tucker could see was Wash’s expression as the sword cut through armor, bursting right out of the center of Wash’s chest. It was superimposed over the Wash now, lying sideways on a hospital cot, his feet dangling off the edge. Tucker rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. It had to be better than looking at Wash right now.

“Tucker?” Wash sounded really worried. “Tucker, is everything--”

“You died,” Tucker forced himself to say. “Felix killed you. Right in front of me.”

Wash let out a quiet noise that wasn’t quite a hiss but wasn’t quite a sigh either. “Tucker...”

“We’d won,” Tucker said. “We’d _beaten him_ , and he just... he just didn’t care. It was supposed to be _over_.”

“Hey,” Wash said, grabbing Tucker’s hand. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Tucker rolled over. The angle was awkward, but Wash was propped up on one elbow and smiling at him.

“You got home. You _did_ beat him.” Wash said. There wasn’t any blood on his chest. His eyes were clear and blue. “And we’re not going to let that future happen. Whatever else it is that you saw, we’ll handle it. I promise.”

Tucker looked at him. “Well,” he admitted, letting what Wash said sink in. “Grif was kind of right. I did kick Felix’s ass in a sword fight.”

Wash’s smile brightened slightly. “My avenging hero,” he said, and Tucker hit him.

“Shut up!”

“Make me,” Wash’s eyes glinted brightly.

Tucker pulled his legs onto the bed and pounced on Wash, pinning him to the bed. “Fine, but you asked for it,” he said, doing his best sexy eyebrow wiggle.

Wash grinned, and grabbed at the collar of Tucker’s undersuit to pull him down into another kiss.

 _Felix was full of shit_ , Tucker decided, even as Wash managed to flip Tucker so that Tucker was the one pressed into the mattress.

But he pushed that out of his mind. Right now, he had more important things to think about.

Like finding the damn zipper on Wash’s clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left! Take us home, Iz! 
> 
> Also, so when we started this project, it was a collaboration with the amazing Strudelgit over on the Mod Chat. Becky's recently posted a few illustrations for this fic (and the extended universe!) 
> 
> [Wash's death.](http://powerfulpomegranate.tumblr.com/post/147186735580/bitter-pill-how-about-washs-death-b)
> 
> [Various doodles,](http://powerfulpomegranate.tumblr.com/post/147396677094/okay-at-this-point-a-lot-of-this-is-all-ooooold) including Carolina right after losing Epsilon, Donut and Carolina reacting to a video, Tucker and Wash's reunion, a Wash portrait, and Wash as Felix's captive right before he loses his eye!


	12. Chapter 12

_ Ten Years Later, in an Alternate Future _

Here was the thing about the universe: it was more complicated than it let on. 

There was not one timeline as most people thought, not one beginning, middle and end to every story. The world wasn’t built like tales out of a storybook, neatly collected and organized. No, the universe worked as an oral history, twisting and turning itself with the weight of time. There was no true beginning but dozens. A beginning where Tucker vanished into thin air with the glow of a stone, a beginning where he never found the rock in the first place, a middle where he saw the world years in the future, a middle where he never saw the future at all. An end where he fiddled with a zipper for two minutes and an end where he fell asleep like usual after a night of useless patrol.

There were many ends and beginnings for Lavernius Tucker. Worlds upon worlds of them. This world was none of them. This was a world where Lavernius Tucker vanished ten years ago and left a world forced to mourn. This was a world where his friends died in a last stand. 

This was a world where Hargrove clawed open the door to his room on a silent ship and prayed the silence that lingered meant everyone else was dead. 

Hargrove looked out of the room, down the hallway. It was empty, badly scratched, and he took a moment to linger in the silence. For once, he found it less than blissful. The last fifteen minutes he’d heard nothing but gunfire echoing in the ruins of his ship, explosions and shouts. To hear nothing but silence, even from his own men, could be his salvation or his death.

“F.I.L.S.S,” he whispered, hoping his voice wouldn’t carry. “Status.”

There was no reply. Hargrove cursed. Damn Epsilon. Damn that fragment who had the gaul to disobey him. To see himself as anything more than Hargrove’s tool. He must have taken out F.I.L.S.S as well.

No matter. F.I.L.S.S had been useless anyway. Only loyal enough to prevent the fragment from killing him like the rest of his crew. He should have traded it out for a newer model years ago A model who knew respect.

He left his room, walking down the hallway. There was a slight limp in his left leg, though not from the crash itself. Alien medicine had helped him in his old age, but he was not as spry as he used to be. Arthritis, or so the doctors told him. His hope had been to cure it when he carved out Chorus for himself. Make himself new.

Those plans would have to be halted for now. His fleet was destroyed. He would have to regroup first. Get off the damn planet. He had a shuttle somewhere in the East; it’d be a long journey, but he could manage. Perhaps, when he found it, he could blast what survivors of the rebellion he could find off the face of the Earth.

He limped his way into the engine room. He didn’t even stop to glance at the chaos, the broken bodies. His A.I were useless to him now, he’d heard the E.M.P, and he stepped on the wrist of Resentment as he passed it by. How much time had he wasted, turning that dumb robot into something useful? How much time had he wasted, splitting a useless A.I? 

Felix was near the end of the hall and Hargrove only bothered to check his corpse for the sword. He found it laying at the merc’s side, and reached into his pocket for a piece of fabric to lift it up. He’d prefer to avoid any side effects of being the key bearer. Tucking the hilt into his belt, he looked down at the merc. 

“Fool,” he said, spitting right on Felix’s face. The merc stared back at him, a grin still on his face. Theatric even in death. Hargrove could have saved thousands getting someone with even the slightest bit of restraint. Locus, he thought, had always been his better agent. Easy to control. 

Shame the fragment ruined him. 

He headed down one of the hallways, to what he knew was the exterior of the ship. There was a hatch there, he knew that, and he pick up his pace as he passed rooms where blood leaked out from under the door. That fragment had been more deadly than he thought. Too bad it had chosen to resist working for him as a whole. It would have been less painful for everyone involved. Blood soaked into his shoes as he made his closer to the exit hatch, and he mourned the fact he would likely have to burn them. They’d been his favorite pair. Served him right, he supposed, for not wearing something practical to work.

He reached the exit hatch. It looked somewhat damaged, but Hargrove didn’t mind. Had it been fully intact, undoing the manual hatch would have been difficult. He twisted the wheel that kept the latch looked and when the hatch opened with a click, he let out a sigh. It still worked. He’d been worried he would have to find another exit.

The air on his skin was unfamiliar. Hargrove lived on this ship for years: he’d never actually set foot on Chorus proper. It was better that way: better to keep his distance from his work. He stepped out of the hatch, minding the slight drop between it and the ground. Dirt and sand flew into the air and stained his pants. He took a moment to brush it off, then looked to where he’d landed.

It was a beautiful planet, he supposed. Parts of it at least. Beyond the spot where the ship had crashed, looked to be a patch of plains, assorted wildflowers and tall grass. It circled the ship, the must have landed right in the middle. Hargrove breathed in the air. Nothing but soot from the wreckage.

It was for the better. He’d always been terribly allergic to flowers. 

He would have to get moving, he knew. The leaders of the rebellion may be dead, but their men still lived. A threat, even if a small one. He tapped his watch. A small map appeared, a guide to his hidden ship, and he frowned at the distance. Hopefully there would be some vehicle he could hotwire. Walking through the forest wasn’t ideal. He took a step forward, then another, stepping away from the ship. Soon, he was waist deep in the grass. 

They were wonderful flowers, he thought as the petals from one brushed against his suit. If they survived his next assault, he would have to consider planting them commercially. It could be a nice side business. 

He heard a thump from behind him. Boots hitting the ground. A snarl on his face, he reached for the sword in his belt. The blade flashed to life, energy in his hands and he turned. He’d let his men eliminate these pests for too long. It was time that he dealt with them directly-

That was his last thought as a sword, metal not energy, drove right through his chest.

Hargrove dropped his own blade.

He looked up at the soldier in front of him.Her helmet was off and Hargrove couldn’t help but think it ridiculous, for him to be killed by someone undefended. She was young, very young, and she snarled at him, twisting the sword in his chest. Hargrove would die wondering how something could hurt that much.

“Who are you?” He managed to choke out. He could hear the death rattle in his voice. A small A.I, one he recognized, appeared on her shoulder, a baby blue. It watched, silent, as he shook, impaled on a blade. 

“I’m-” the soldier gritted her teeth. Pulled out the sword. And God, how that hurt. Hargrove fell to the ground. Blood bubbled in his mouth. She must have gotten a lung. 

“I’m-” the soldier started again. “I’m Chorus. And you can go fuck yourself.” 

Hargrove’s last thought, bleeding out among the wildflowers, was that it had been a decade since he’d touched solid ground. 

* * *

Fox sat next to Hargrove’s body for ten minutes before standing up.

She’d pictured this moment for years, ever since she turned twelve and learned who the man responsible for the chaos outside was. Back when she’d trained, she’d pictured him as her target, every strike meant to hit Hargrove. In her darker moments, moments she wasn’t proud of, she had pictured all the ways she could lead him to his end. Shoved off a ship. Shot with the grifshot. Shoving acid down his throat.

She’d never pictured it like this. In a field of wildflowers, with a bloody sword she’d grabbed in a haste when she noticed bloody footprints headed down a hallway. 

“I’m Chorus,” she said to herself, looking down at the sword. She was there when Simmons got it, a gift from Carolina. Simmons had almost preened at the sight of it. It was one of the few memories she had of him being entirely happy. “God, what kind of line is that.”

“I think it went well,” Hope said, popping up on her shoulder. He’d gotten a little easier to see than last time. Fox wondered if it was because Hargrove was gone. She had a feeling the A.I could exist easier with him dead at her feet. “He looked pretty intimidated.”

“I had a sword in his chest.”

“Still counts.”

She looked down at the sword again. A match for the grifshot and her helmet she thought: relics of people she’d lost. The helmet she’d stolen from Simmons, a relic from Sarge who died when she was too young to really understand what that meant. The grifshot Simmons had given her, his only words “he wanted you to have this.”

And now the sword. This sword. And the one lying a foot across from her.

“Think he’d be proud of me?” She glanced at Hope. She tried not to think of the scene she’d stumbled into on the ship, the death she’d seen there. How she had to pull the sword out of Simmon’s belt rather than take a moment to mourn someone lost. “He was my Dad, you know? Well, as close to one anyway. It wasn’t like there was paperwork.” And there wasn’t. Only a little girl, rescued by two cursing misfits as the Capital fell to pieces. A little girl who’d grown up, lost one and then the other. Orange then red. 

“Oh course, Lauren.”

Fox smiled a little at that, though it felt bitter. Having Hargrove in front of her felt wrong, and she got up, driving her own sword into the ground. Soon after, she walked over to pick up the energy sword Hargrove dropped. After a second of hesitation, she picked it up. It flashed to life, a bright red color. 

“Does this make me the chosen one?” She turned the sword in her hand. “Bad shit always happens to the chosen one.”

“It does?”

“Of course it does.” Hope didn’t respond. “Look, I’m a Grif in all but name: we’re genre savvy. Trust me, bad shit always happens to the chosen one.” She looked out at the wrecked ship and thought of those inside. Those lost. Held back the urge to crumple to the ground and sob like a little girl. That would have to wait. “Not like it hasn’t happened already.”

“You’ll be fine!” Hope, ever cheerful, said from her shoulder. “The best chosen one Chorus has ever seen!”

Fox thought back to the man she’d only heard of from others, the man in teal armor. Lavernius Tucker. She hadn’t seen him on the ship. Perhaps he had made it back to his own time after all. To prevent all of this. She looked back down at her sword. 

“I think someone already has that position.”

“Lauren! Lieutenant Fox!” Fox looked towards the ship. In the distance she could see Grey waiting there, Palomo and Jensen right behind her. The rest of the surviving troops must be nearby. “Are you hurt!”

Fox put away the energy sword, tucking it in her belt. The other sword she pulled out from the ground. “I’m fine.” Fine as she could be anyway. She looked back at Hargrove. Standing up, it was hard to see him through the wildflowers. Like he’d never been here at all.

She looked at the horizon, the forest trees, the alien towers that had always graced Chorus’ skyline. Her home. Beat up, ruined, and on it’s last leg. But her home nonetheless.

She could give it up, she thought. Move somewhere else, when they called for help now that Hargrove was done for. Or she could stay here and plant roots. Build something out of the rubble.

She reached down for a wildflower, picking off a petal. Rolled it in her hands. Smiled.

“Ready to meet the other’s, Hope?” She said, looking back to the other survivors.

Hope just sat on her shoulder as they walked back to the ship, silhouetted by the setting sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with us through this, guys! Hope you had as much fun as we did. 
> 
> -Iz, Rena, and Steph


End file.
